a 


Definitions. 

—A  matter  of  cause— Effect. 
— A  matter  of  cores — Apple  sauce. 
—A  matter  of  coeroe— Compulsion. 
—A  matter  of  course— A  horse  race. 
—A  matter  of  corse— Grave  robbing. 
—A  matter  of  coarse— Cheap  clothing. 


—  Colts—  A  horse  heir. 

—  Clocks  —  Striking  objeats. 
—Custom—  The  law  of  fools. 
—Cold  snap—  An  icy  answer. 
—Comma—  A  period  with  a  long  tail. 
—Contractor—  The  girl  who  laces  tightly 
—Counter   attraction—  A    pretty    sales 

i  woman. 

—  Corkscrew  —  The    key   which    unlock 
the  gait  of  a  man's  legs. 

—Cotton  Mather—  A  writer  whoinventec 
the  cotton  gin  and  wrote  histories. 

—  Coquette—  One  who  first    steals  you 
heart  by  her  address,  and  then  steels  he 
owu  heart  to  your  addresses. 

—Constitution  of  the  United  States  wa 
established   to  insure  domestic  hostility- 
Thai  part  of  the  book  at  the  end  which  no 
body  reads. 

—Divorce  -See  Chicago. 

—  Dead  sea  fruit—  Currents. 
—Diamond—  A  dear  little  thing. 

—  Damsel  —  Greatest  sell  on  record. 
—Done  with  the  pen—  A  dead  dig. 

—  Door—  Knobbiest  part  of  the  house. 
—Diamond  in  the  ruff—  A  lady  brooch. 

—  Domestics  —  The  hire  class  of  society. 
—Dirt  -Mud  with  the  juice  squeezed  out. 
—Dancing—  Embodied  melody;  poetry  of 

motion. 

—Demagogue—  A  vessel  containing  beer 
and  other  liquids. 

—  Fiat  failure  —  A  poor  pancake. 
—Forced  politeness—  Bowing    to    neces- 


—  Flirtation  —  Attention    without    inten- 
tion. 

—  Feast  of  reason—  The  entertainment  of 
an  idea. 

—  First-class  securities  —  Handcuffs    and 
timelocks. 

—Flirt—  A  fish  which  eats  all  the  bait 
and  escapes  the  hook  ;  the  complete  angler. 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA 


BY 

S?  BARING-GOULD 

0 

AUTHOR  OF 

"THE  PENNYCOMEQUICKS,'  "URITH,"  ETC. 


NEW  YORK 

NATIONAL   BOOK   COMPANY 

6    MISSION    PLACE 


COPYRIGHT,  1891, 

BY 
UNITED  STATES  BOOK  COMPANY. 


[All  rights  reserved^ 


IS  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 


CHAPTER  I. 

OVER    AND    DONE. 

Sitting-  in  the  parsonage  garden,  in  a  white  frock, 
with  a  pale  green  sash  about  her  waist,  leaning  back 
against  the  red-brick  wall,  her  glowing  copper  hair  lit 
by  the  evening  sun,  was  Judith  Trevisa. 

She  was  tossing  guelder-roses  into  the  air ;  some 
dozens  were  strewn  about  her  feet  on  the  gravel,  but 
one  remained  of  the  many  she  had  plucked  and  thrown 
and  caught,  and  thrown  and  caught  again  for  a  sunny 
afternoon  hour.  As  each  greenish-white  ball  of  flowers 
went  up  into  the  air  it  diffused  a  faint  but  pleasant  fra- 
grance. 

"When  I  have  done  with  you,  my  beauty,  I  have 
done  altogether,"  said  Judith. 

"  With  what  ?  " 

Her  father  spoke.  He  had  come  up  unperceived  by 
the  girl,  burdened  with  a  shovel  in  one  hand  and  a 
bucket  in  the  other,  looking  pale,  weary,  and  worn. 

"  Papa,  you  nearly  spoiled  my  game.  Let  me  finish, 
and  I  will  speak." 

"Is  it  a  very  serious  matter,  Judith,  and  engross- 
ing?" 

" Engrossing,  but  not  serious,  Je  m'amuse" 

The  old  rector  seated  himself  on  the  bench  beside  her, 
and  he  also  leaned  back  against  the  red-brick,  gold-and- 
gray-lichen-spotted  wall,  and  looked  into  the  distance 
before  him,  waiting*  till  his  daughter  was  ready  to  speak, 
not,  perhaps,  sorry  to  have  a  little  rest  first,  for  he  was 
overtired.  Had  Judith  not  been  absorbed  in  her  ball- 
play  with  the  guelder-rose  bunch  she  would  have  noticed 

£5239688 


6  //./y:  HIE,  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

his  Laggard  appeaw^e,  the  green  hue  about  his  mouth, 
the  sunken  eyesi,  the  beaded  brow.  But  she  was  count- 
ing the  rebounds  of  her  ball,  bent  on  sustaining  her  play 
as  long  as  was  possible  to  her. 

She  formed  a  charming  picture,  fresh  and  pure,  and 
had  the  old  man  not  been  overtired,  he  would  have 
thought  so  with  a  throb  of  parental  pride. 

She  was  a  child  in  size,  slender  in  build,  delicate  in 
bone,  with  face  and  hands  of  porcelain  transparency  .and 
whiteness,  with,  moreover,  that  incomparable  complexion 
only  seen  in  the  British  Isles,  and  then  only  with  red- 
gold  hair. 

Her  bronze-leather  shoes  were  the  hue  of  some  large 
flies  that  basked  and  frisked  on  the  warm  wall,  only 
slightly  disturbed  by  the  girl's  play,  to  return  again  and 
run  and  preen  themselves  again,  and  glitter  jewel-like  as 
studs  on  that  sun-baked,  lichen-enamelled  wall.  Her 
eyes,  moreover,  were  lustrous  as  the  backs  of  these  flies, 
iridescent  with  the  changing  lights  of  the  declining 
sun,  and  the  changed  direction  of  her  glance  following 
the  dancing  ball  of  guelder-rose.  Her  long  fingers 
might  have  been  of  china,  but  that  when  raised  so  that 
the  sun  struck  their  backs  they  were  turned  to  a  trans- 
lucent rose.  There  was  no  color  in  her  cheek,  only  the 
faintest  suffusion  of  pink  on  the  temples  below  where 
the  hair  was  rolled  back  in  waves  of  luminous  molten 
copper  dashing  against  the  brick  wall. 

"  I  have  done  my  work,"  said  the  rector. 

"  And  I  my  play,"  responded  the  girl,  letting  the  ball 
drop  into  her  lap  and  rock  there  from  one  knee  to  the 
other.  "Papa,  this  fellow  is  the  conqueror;  I  have 
made  him  dance  thirty -five  great  leaps,  and  he  has  not 
yet  fallen — wilfully.  I  let  him  go  down  and  get  breath 
just  now.  There  lie  all  my  dancers  dead  about  me. 
They  failed  very  speedily." 

"  You  cannot  be  forever  playing,  Ju." 

"  That  is  why  I  play  now,  papa.  When  playtime  is 
over  I  shall  be  in  earnest  indeed." 

"  Indeed  ?  "  the  old  man  sighed. 

Judith  looked  round,  and  was  shocked  to  see  how  ill 
her  father  appeared  to  be. 

"  Are  you  very  tired,  darling  papa  ?  " 

"  Yes — overtired." 

"  Have  you  been  at  your  usual  task  ?  " 


7^  THE  EOAR  OF  THE  SEA.  7 

"  Yes,  Ju — an  unprofitable  task." 

"  Oh,  papa !  " 

"  Yes,  unprofitable.  The  next  wind  from  the  sea  that 
blows — one  will  blow  in  an  hour — and  all  my  work  is 
undone." 

"  But,  my  dear  papa !  "  Judith  stooped  and  looked 
into  the  bucket.  "  "Why  ! — what  has  made  you  bring"  a 
load  of  sand  up  here  ?  We  want  none  in  the  garden. 
And  such  a  distance  too  ! — from  the  church.  No  wonder 
you  are  tired." 

"Have  I  brought  it  ?  "  he  asked,  without  looking  at 
the  bucket. 

"  You  have,  indeed.  That,  if  you  please,  is  unprofit- 
able work,  not  the  digging  of  the  church  out  of  the 
sand-heaps  that  swallow  it." 

"  My  dear,  I  did  not  know  that  I  had  not  emptied  the 
pail  outside  the  church-yard  gate.  I  am  very  tired ; 
perhaps  that  explains  it." 

"  No  doubt  about  it,  papa.  It  was  work  quite  as  un- 
profitable but  much  more  exhausting  than  my  ball -play. 
Now,  papa,  while  you  have  been  digging  your  church 
out  of  the  sand,  which  will  blow  over  it  again  to-night, 
you  say,  I  have  been  pitching  and  tossing  guelder-roses. 
We  have  been  both  wasting  time,  one  as  much  as  the 
other." 

"  One  as  much  as  the  other,"  repeated  the  old  man. 
"  Yes,  dear,  one  as  much  as  the  other,  and  I  have  been 
doing  it  all  my  time  here—morally,  spiritually,  as  well 
as  materially,  digging  the  cnurch  out  of  the  smothering 
sands,  and  all  in  vain — all  profitless  work.  You  are 
right,  Ju." 

"Papa,"  said  Judith  hastily,  seeing  his  discourage- 
ment and  knowing  his  tendency  to  depression,  "papa, 
do  you  hear  the  sea  how  it  roars?  I  have  stood  on  the 
bench,  more  than  once,  to  look  out  seaward,  and  find  a 
reason  for  it;  but  there  is  none— all  blue,  blue  as  a 
larkspur;  and  not  a  cloud  in  the  sky — all  blue,  blue 
there  too.  No  wind  either,  and  that  is  why  I  have  done 
well  with  my  ball-play.  Do  you  hear  the  roar  of  the 
sea,  papa.  ?  "  she  repeated. 

"  Yes,  Ju.  There  will  be  a  storm  shortly.  The  sea  is 
thrown  into  great  swells  of  rollers,  a  sure  token  that 
something  is  coming.  Before  night  a  gale  will  be  on 
us." 


8  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

Then  ensued  silence.  Judith  with  one  finger  trifled 
with  the  guelder-rose  bunch  in  her  lap  musingly,  not 
desirous  to  resume  her  play  with  it.  Something  in  her 
father's  manner  was  unusual,  and  made  her  uneasy. 

"  My  dear  !  "  he  began,  after  a  pause,  "  one  must  look 
out  to  sea — into  the  vast  mysterious  sea  of  the  future — 
and  prepare  for  what  is  coming  from  it.  Just  now  the 
air  is  still,  and  we  sit  in  this  sweet,  sunny  garden,  and 
lean  our  backs  against  the  warm  wall,  and  smell  the  fra- 
grance of  the  flowers ;  but  we  hear  the  beating  of  the 
sea,  and  know  that  a  mighty  tempest,  with  clouds  and 
darkness,  is  coming.  So  in  other  matters  we  must  look 
out  and  be  ready — count  the  time  till  it  comes.  My 
dear,  when  I  am  gone— 

"  Papa ! " 

"  We  were  looking  out  to  sea  and  listening.  That 
must  come  at  some  time — it  may  come  sooner  than  you 
anticipate."  He  paused,  heaved  a  sigh,  and  said,  "  Oh, 
Jamie  !  What  are  we  to  do  about  Jamie  ?  " 

"  Papa,  I  will  always  take  care  of  Jamie." 

"  But  who  will  take  care  of  you  ?  " 

"  Of  me  ?     Oh,  papa,  surely  I  can  take  care  of  myself ! " 

He  shook  his  head  doubtfully. 

"  Papa,  you  know  how  strong  I  am  in  will — how  firm 
I  can  be  with  Jamie." 

"  But  all  mankind  are  not  Jamies.  It  is  not  for  you 
I  fear,  as  much  as  for  you  and  him  together.  He  is  a 
trouble  and  a  difficulty."  * 

"  Jamie  is  not  so  silly  ana  troublesome  as  you  think. 
All  he  needs  is  application.  He  cannot  screw  his  mind 
down  to  his  books — to  any  serious  occupation.  But  that 
will  come.  I  have  heard  say  that  the  stupidest  children 
make  the  sharpest  men.  Little  by  little  it  will  come, 
but  it  will  come  certainly.  I  will  set  myself  as  my  task 
to  make  Jamie  apply  his  mind  and  become  a  useful  man, 
and  I  shall  succeed,  papa."  She  caught  her  father's  hand 
between  hers,  and  slapped  it  joyously,  confidently.  "  How 
cold  your  hand  is,  papa!  and  yet  you  look  warm." 

"  You  were  always  Jamie's  champion,"  said  her  father, 
not  noticing  her  remark  relative  to  himself. 

"  He  is  my  twin  brother,  so  of  course  I  am  his  cham- 
pion. Who  else  would  be  that,  were  not  I  ? " 

"  No — no  one  else.  He  is  mischievous  and  trouble- 
some— poor,  poor  fellow.  You  will  always  be  to  Jamie 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  9 

what  you  are  now,  Ju — his  protector  or  champion  ?  He 
is  weak  and  foolish,  and  if  he  were  to  fall  into  bad  hands 
— I  shudder  to  think  what  might  become  of  him." 

"Rely  on  me,  dearest  father." 

Then  he  lifted  the  hand  of  his  daughter,  and  looked 
at  it  with  a  faint  smile.  "  It  is  very  small,  it  is  very 
weak,  to  fight  for  self  alone,  let  alone  yourself  encum- 
bered with  Jamie." 

"  I  will  do  it,  papa,  do  not  fear." 

"  Judith,  I  must  talk  very  gravely  with  you,  for  the 
future  is  very  dark  to  me ;  and  I  am  unable  with  hand 
or  brain  to  provide  anything  against  the  evil  day. 
Numbness  is  on  me,  and  I  have  been  hampered  on  every 
side.  For  one  thing,  the  living  has  been  so  poor,  and 
my  parishioners  so  difficult  to  deal  with,  that  I  have  been 
able  to  lay  by  but  a  trifle.  I  believe  I  have  not  a  relative 
in  the  world — none,  at  all  events,  near  enough  and  known 
to  me  that  I  dare  ask  him  to  care  for  you — 

"  Papa,  there  is  Aunt  Dionysia." 

"  Aunt  Dionysia,"  he  repeated,  with  a  hesitating  voice. 
"Yes;  but  Aunt  Dionysia  is — is  not  herself  capable  of 
taking  charge  of  you.  She  has  nothing  but  what  she 
earns,  and  then — Aunt  Dionysia  is — is — well — Aunt  Di- 
onysia. I  don't  think  you  could  be  happy  with  her,  even 
if,  in  the  event  of  my  departure,  she  were  able  to  take 
care  of  you.  Then — and  that  chiefly — she  has  chosen, 
against  my  express  wishes — I  may  say,  in  defiance  of  me 
— to  go  as  housekeeper  into  the  service  of  the  man,  of 
all  others,  who  has  been  a  thorn  in  my  side,  a  hinderer 
of  God's  work,  a —  But  I  will  say  no  more." 

"What !  Cruel  Coppinger  ?  " 

"Yes,  Cruel  Coppinger.  I  might  have  been  the  means 
of  doing  a  little  good  in  this  place,  God  knows !  I  only 
think  I  might ;  but  I  have  been  thwarted,  defied,  insulted 
by  that  man.  As  I  have  striven  to  dig  my  buried  church 
out  of  the  overwhelming  sands,  so  have  I  striven  to  lift 
the  souls  of  my  poor  parishioners  out  of  the  dead  en- 
gulfing sands  of  savagery,  brutality,  very  heathenism  of 
their  mode  of  life,  and  I  have  been  frustrated.  The 
winds  have  blown  the  sands  back  with  every  gale  over 
my  work  with  spade,  and  that  stormblast  Coppinger  has 
devastated  every  trace  of  good  that  I  have  done,  or  tried 
to  do,  in  spiritual  matters.  The  Lord  reward  him  ac- 
cording to  his  works." 


10  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

Judith  felt  her  father's  hand  tremble  in  hers. 

;t  Never  mind  Coppinger  now,"  she  said,  soothingly. 

"  I  must  mind  him,"  said  the  old  man,  with  severe 
vehemence.  "  And— that  my  own  sister  should  go,  go — 
out  of  defiance,  into  his  house  and  serve  him  !  That  was 
too  much.  I  might  well  say,  I  have  none  to  whom  to 
look  as  your  protector."  He  paused  awhile,  and  wiped 
his  brow.  His  pale  lips  were  quivering.  "I  do  not 
mean  to  say,"  said  he,  "  that  I  acted  with  judgment, 
when  first  I  came  to  S.  Enodoc,  when  I  spoke  against 
smuggling.  I  did  not  understand  it  then.  I  thought 
with  the  thoughts  of  an  inlander.  Here — the  sands 
sweep  over  the  fields,  and  agriculture  is  in  a  measure 
impossible.  The  bays  and  creeks  seem  to  invite— well 
— I  leave  it  an  open  question.  But  with  regard  to  wreck- 
ing—  His  voice,  which  had  quavered  in  feebleness, 
according  with  the  feebleness  of  his  judgment  relative 
to  smuggling,  now  gained  sonorousness.  "  Wrecking, 
deliberate  wrecking,  is  quite  another  matter.  I  do  not 
say  that  our  people  are  not  justified  in  gathering  the 
harvest  the  sea  casts  up.  There  always  must  be,  there 
will  be  wrecks  on  this  terrible  coast ;  but  there  has  been 
— I  know  there  has  been,  though  I  have  not  been  able  to 
prove  it — deliberate  provocation  of  wrecks,  and  that  is 
the  sin  of  Cain.  Had  I  been  able  to  prove  — 

"  Never  mind  that  now,  dear  papa.  Neither  I  nor  Ja- 
mie are,  or  will  be,  wreckers.  Talk  of  something  else. 
You  over-excite  yourself." 

Judith  was  accustomed  to  hear  her  father  talk  in  an 
open  manner  to  her.  She  had  been  his  sole  companion 
for  several  years,  since  his  wife's  death,  and  she  had  be- 
come the  confidante  of  his  inmost  thoughts,  his  vacilla- 
tions, his  discouragements,  not  of  his  hopes — for  he  had 
none,  nor  of  his  schemes — for  he  formed  none. 

"  I  do  not  think  I  have  been  of  any  use  in  this  world," 
said  the  old  parson,  relapsing  into  his  tone  of  discour- 
agement, the  temporary  flame  of  anger  having  died 
away.  "My  sowing  has  produced  no  harvest.  I  have 
brought  light,  help,  strength  to  none.  I  have  dug  all 
day  in  the  vineyard,  and  not  a  vine  is  .the  better  for  it; 
all  cankered  and  fruitless." 

"  Papa— and  me  !    Have  you  done  nothing  for  me  1 " 

"You!" 

He  had  not  thought  of  his  child. 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  11 

"  Papa !  Do  you  think  that  I  have  gained  naught 
from  you  ?  No  strength,  no  resolution  from  seeing  you 
toil  on  in  your  thankless  work,  without  apparent  results  ? 
If  I  have  any  energy  and  principle  to  carry  me  through 
I  owe  it  to  you." 

He  was  moved,  and  raised  his  trembling  hand  and  laid 
it  on  her  golden  head. 

He  said  no  more,  and  was  very  still. 

Presently  she  spoke.  His  hands  weighed  heavily  on 
her  head. 

"  Papa,  you  are  listening  to  the  roar  of  the  sea  I  " 

He  made  no  reply. 

"  Papa,  I  felt  a  cold  breath ;  and  see,  the  sun  has  a 
film  over  it.  Surely  the  sea  is  roaring  louder !  " 

His  hand  slipped  from  her  head  and  struck  her 
shoulder — roughly,  she  thought.  She  turned,  startled, 
and  looked  at  him.  His  eyes  were  open,  he  was  leaning 
back,  almost  fallen  against  the  wall,  and  was  deadly 
pale. 

"  Papa,  you  are  listening  to  the  roar?  " 

Then  a  thought  struck  her  like  a  bullet  in  the  heart. 

"  Papa  !     Papa  !     My  papa  ! — speak — speak !  " 

She  sprang  from  the  bench — was  before  him.  Her 
left  guelder-rose  had  rolled,  had  bounded  from  her  lap, 
and  had  fallen  on  the  sand  the  old  man  had  listlessly 
brought  up  from  the  church.  His  work,  her  play,  were 
forever  over. 


CHAPTER  II. 

A  PASSAGE   OF  AEMS. 

The  stillness  preceding-  the  storm  had  yielded.  A  gale 
had  broken  over  the  coast,  raged  against  the  cliffs  of 
Pentyre,  and  battered  the  walls  of  the  parsonage,  with- 
out disturbing  the  old  rector,  whom  no  storm  would 
trouble  again,  soon  to  be  laid  under  the  sands  of  his 
buried  church-yard,  his  very  mound  to  be  heaped  over  in 
a  few  years,  and  obliterated  by  waves  of  additional  en- 
croaching1 sand.  Judith  had  not  slept  all  night.  She — 
she,  a  mere  child,  had  to  consider  and  arrange  everything 
consequent  on  the  death  of  the  master  of  the  house. 
The  servants — cook  and  house-maid — had  been  of  little, 
if  any,  assistance  to  her.  When  Jane,  the  house-maid, 
had  rushed  into  the  kitchen  with  the  tidings  that  the  old 
parson  was  dead,  cook,  in  her  agitation,  upset  the  kettle 
and  scalded  her  foot.  The  gardener's  wife  had  come  in 
on  hearing  the  news,  and  had  volunteered  help.  Judith 
had  given  her  the  closet-key  to  fetch  from  the  stores 
something-  needed ;  and  Jamie,  finding  access  to  the 
closet,  had  taken  possession  of  a  pot  of  raspberry  jam, 
carried  it  to  bed  with  him,  and  spilled  it  over  the  sheets, 
besides  making-  himself  ill.  The  house-maid,  Jane,  had 
forgotten  in  her  distraction  to  shut  the  best  bedroom 
casement,  and  the  gale  during-  the  night  had  wrenched  it 
from  its  hinges,  flung  it  into  the  garden  on  the  roof  of 
the  small  conservatory,  and  smashed  both.  Moreover, 
the  casement  being  open,  the  rain  had  driven  into  the 
room  unchecked,  had  swamped  the  floor,  run  through 
and  stained  the  drawing-room  ceiling  underneath,  the 
drips  had  fallen  on  the  mahogany  table  and.  blistered  the 
veneer.  A  messenger  was  sent  to  Pentyre  Glaze  for 
Miss  Dionysia  Trevisa,  and  she  would  probably  arrive  in 
an  hour  or  two. 

Mr.  Trevisa,  as  he  had  told  Judith,  was  solitary,  sin- 
gularly so.  He  was  of  a  good  Cornish  family,  but  it  was 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  13 

one  that  had  dwindled  till  it  had  ceased  to  have  other 
representative  than  himself.  Once  well  estated,  at 
Crockadon,  in  S.  Mellion,  all  the  lands  of  the  family  had 
been  lost ;  once  with  merchants  in  the  family,  all  the 
fortunes  of  these  merchants  industriously  gathered  had 
been  dissipated,  and  nothing-  had  remained  to  the  Kev- 
erend  Peter  Trevisa  but  his  family  name  and  family  coat, 
a  garb  or,  on  a  field  gules.  It  really  seemed  as  though 
the  tinctures  of  the  shield  had  been  fixed  in  the  crown  of 
splendor  that  covered  the  head  of  Judith.  But  she  did 
not  derive  this  wealth  of  red-gold  hair  from  her  Cornish 
ancestors,  but  from  a  Scottish  mother,  a  poor  governess 
whom  Mr.  Peter  Trevisa  had  married,  thereby  exciting 
the  wrath  of  his  only  sister  and  relative,  Miss  Dionysia, 
who  had  hitherto  kept  house  for  him,  and  vexed  his  soul 
with  her  high-handed  proceedings.  It  was  owing  to 
some  insolent  words  used  by  her  to  Mrs.  Trevisa  that 
Peter  had  quarrelled  with  his  sister  at  first.  Then  when 
his  wife  died,  she  had  forced  herself  on  him  as  house- 
keeper, but  again  her  presence  in  the  house  had  become 
irksome  to  him,  and  when  she  treated  his  children — his 
delicate  and  dearly  loved  Judith — with  roughness,  and  his 
timid,  silly  Jamie  with  harshness,  amounting  in  his  view 
to  cruelty — harsh  words  had  passed  between  them; 
sharp  is,  however,  hardly  the  expression  to  use  for  the 
carefully  worded  remonstrances  of  the  mild  rector, 
though  appropriate  enough  to  her  rejoinders.  Then 
she  had  taken  herself  off  and  had  become  housekeeper 
to  Curll  Coppinger,  Cruel  Coppinger,  as  he  was  usually 
called,  who  occupied  Pentyre  Glaze,  and  was  a  fairly 
well-to-do  single  man. 

Mr.  Trevisa  had  not  been  a  person  of  energy,  but 
one  of  culture  and  refinement ;  a  dispirited,  timid  man. 
Finding  no  neighbors  of  the  same  mental  texture,  nor 
sympathetic,  he  had  been  driven  to  make  of  Judith, 
though  a  child,  his  companion,  and  he  had  poured  into 
her  ear  all  his  troubles,  which  largely  concerned  the 
future  of  his  children.  In  his  feebleness  he  took  com- 
fort from  her  sanguine  confidence,  though  he  was  well 
aware  that  it  was  bred  of  ignorance,  and  he  derived  a 
weak  satisfaction  from  the  thought  that  he  had  pre- 
pared her  morally,  at  all  events,  if  in  no  other  fashion, 
for  the  crisis  that  must  come  when  he  was  withdrawn. 

Mr.  Peter  Trevisa— Peter  was  a  family  Christian  name 


14:  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

—was  for  twenty -five  years  rector  of  S.  Enodoc,  on  the 
north  coast  of  Cornwall  at  the  mouth  of  the  Camel. 
The  sand  dunes  had  encroached  on  the  church  of  S. 
Enodoc,  and  had  enveloped  the  sacred  structure.  A  hole 
was  broken  through  a  window,  through  which  the  inte- 
rior could  be  reached,  where  divine  service  was  per- 
formed occasionally  in  the  presence  of  the  church-war- 
dens, so  as  to  establish  the  right  of  the  rectors,  and 
through  this  same  hole  bridal  parties  entered  to  be 
coupled,  with  their  feet  ankle-deep  in  sand  that  filled  the 
interior  to  above  the  pew-tops. 

But  Mr.  Trevisa  was  not  the  man  to  endure  such  a 
condition  of  affairs  without  a  protest  and  an  effort  to 
remedy  it.  He  had  endeavored  to  stimulate  the  farmers 
and  land-owners  of  the  parish  to  excavate  the  buried 
church,  but  his  endeavors  had  proved  futile.  There 
were  several  reasons  for  this.  In  the  first  place,  and  cer- 
tainly foremost,  stood  this  reason:  as  long  as  the  church 
was  choked  with  sand  and  could  not  be  employed  for 
regular  divine  service,  the  tithe  payers  could  make  a 
grievance  of  it,  and  excuse  themselves  from  pay  ing  their 
tithes  in  full,  because,  as  they  argued,  "  Parson  don't  give 
us  sarvice,  so  us  ain't  obliged  to  pay'n."  They  knew 
their  man,  that  he  was  tender-conscienced,  and  would  not 
bring  the  law  to  bear  upon  them ;  he  would  see  that 
there  was  a  certain  measure  of  justness  in  the  argument, 
and  would  therefore  not  demand  of  them  a  tithe  for 
which  he  did  not  give  them  the  quid  pro  quo.  But  they 
had  sufficient-  shrewdness  to  pay  a  portion  of  their 
tithes,  so  as  not  to  drive  him  to  extremities  and  exhaust 
his  patience.  It  will  be  seen,  therefore,  that  in  the  in- 
terests of  their  pockets  the  tithe-payers  did  not  want 
to  have  their  parish  church  excavated.  Excavation 
meant  weekly  service  regularly  performed,  and  weekly 
service  regularly  performed  would  be  followed  by  exac- 
tion of  the  full  amount  of  rent-charge.  Then,  again,  in 
the  second  place,  should  divine  service  be  resumed  in 
the  church  of  8.  Enodoc,  the  parishioners  would  feel  a 
certain  uneasiness  in  their  consciences  if  they  disre- 
garded the  summons  of  the  bell ;  it  might  not  be  a  very 
lively  uneasiness,  but  just  such  an  irritation  as  might  be 
caused  by  a  fly  crawling  over  the  face.  So  long  as  there 
was  110  service  they  could  soothe  their  consciences  with 
the  thought  that  there  was  no  call  to  make  an  effort  to 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  15 

pull  on  Sunday  breeches  and  assume  a  Sunday  hat,  and 
trudge  to  the  church.  Therefore,  secondly,  for  the  ease 
of  their  own  consciences,  it  was  undesirable  that  S.  Eno- 
doc  should  be  dug-  out  of  the  sand. 

Then  lastly,  and  thirdly,  the  engulf ment  of  the  church 
gave  them  a  cherished  opportunity  for  being1  nasty  to 
the  rector,  and  retailing-  upon  him  for  his  incaution  in 
condemning-  smuggling-  and  launching  out  into  anathema 
against  wrecking.  As  he  had  made  matters  disagreeable 
to  them — tried,  as  they  put  it,  to  take  bread  out  of  their 
mouths,  they  saw  no  reason  why  they  should  spend 
money  to  please  him. 

Mr.  Trevisa  had  made  very  little  provision  for  his 
children,  principally,  if  not  wholly,  because  he  could  not. 
He  had  received  from  the  farmers  and  land-owners  a  por- 
tion of  tithe,  and  had  been  contented  with  that  rather 
than  raise  angry  feelings  by  demanding  the  whole.  Out 
of  that  portion  he  was  able  to  put  aside  but  little. 

Aunt  Dionysia  arrived,  a  tall,  bony  woman,  with  hair 
turning  gray,  light  eyes  and  an  aquiline  nose,  a  hard, 
self-seeking  woman,  who  congratulated  herself  that  she 
did  not  give  way  to  feelings. 

"I  feel,"  said  she,  "as  do  others,  but  I  don't  show  my 
feelings  as  beggars  expose  their  bad  legs." 

She  went  into  the  kitchen.  "  Hoity  toity  !  "  she  said 
to  the  cook,  "  fine  story  this — scalding  yourself.  Mind 
this,  you  cook  meals  or  no  wage  for  you."  To  Jane,  "  The 
mischief  you  have  done  shall  be  valued  and  deducted 
from  any  little  trifle  my  brother  may  have  left  you  in  his 
will.  Where  is  Jamie  ?  Give  me  that  joint  of  fishing- 
rod  ;  I'll  beat  him  for  stealing  raspberry  jam." 

Jamie,  however,  on  catching  a  glimpse  of  his  aunt  had 
escaped  into  the  garden  and  concealed  himself.  The 
cook,  offended,  began  to  clatter  the  saucepans. 

"Now,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Trevisa — she  bore  the  brevet- 
rank — "  in  a  house  of  mourning  what  do  you  mean  by 
making  this  noise,  it  is  impertinent  to  me." 

The  house-maid  swung  out  of  the  kitchen,  muttering. 

Mrs.  Trevisa  now  betook  herself  up-stairs  in  quest  of 
her  niece,  and  found  her  with  red  eyes. 

"I  call  it  rank  felo-de-se ,"  said  Aunt  Dionysia.  "Every 
one  knew — he  knew,  that  he  had  a  feeble  heart,  and  ought 
not  to  be  digging  and  delving  in  the  old  church.  Who 
sent  the  sand  upon  it  1  Why,  Providence,  I  presume. 


16  J^  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

Not  man.  Then  it  was  a  flying  in  the  face  of  Providence 
to  try  to  dig-  it  out.  Who  wanted  the  church  ?  He  might 
have  waited  till  the  parishioners  asked  for  it.  But  there 
— where  is  Jamie  ?  I  shall  teach  him  a  lesson  for  steal- 
ing raspberry  jam." 

"  Oh,  aunt,  not  now — not  now !  " 

Mrs.  Trevisa  considered  a  moment,  then  laid  aside  the 
fishing-rod. 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right.  I  am  not  up  to  it  after  my 
walk  from  Pentyre  Glaze.  Now,  then,  what  about  mourn- 
ing ?  I  do  not  suppose  Jamie  can  be  measured  by  guess- 
work. You  must  bring  him  here.  Tell  him  the  whip- 
ping is  put  off  till  another  day.  Of  course  you  have  seen 
to  black  things  for  yourself.  Not?  Why,  gracious  heav- 
ens !  is  everything  to  be  thrown  on  my  shoulders  ?  Am 
I  to  be  made  a  beast  of  burden  of  ?  Now,  no  mewling 
and  pewking.  There  is  no  time  for  that.  Whatever 
your  time  may  be,  mine  is  valuable.  I  can't  be  here  for- 
ever. Of  course  every  responsibility  has  been  put  on 
me.  Just  like  Peter — no  consideration.  And  what  can 
I  do  with  a  set  of  •  babies  ?  I  have  to  work  hard  enough 
to  keep  myself.  Peter  did  not  want  my  services  at  one 
time  ;  now  I  am  put  upon.  Have  you  sent  for  the  under- 
taker 1  What  about  clothing  again  1  I  suppose  you 
know  that  you  must  have  mourning  1  Bless  my  heart ! 
what  a  lot  of  trouble  you  give  me." 

Mrs.  Trevisa  was  in  a  very  bad  temper,  which  even  the 
knowledge  that  it  was  seemly  that  she  should  veil  it 
could  not  make  her  restrain.  She  was,  no  doubt,  to  a 
certain  extent  fond  of  her  brother — not  much,  because  he 
had  not  been  of  any  advantage  to  her ;  and  no  doubt  she 
was  shocked  at  his  death,  but  chiefly  because  it  entailed 
on  herself  responsibilities  and  trouble  that  she  grudged. 
She  would  be  obliged  to  do  something  for  her  nephew 
and  niece ;  she  would  have  to  provide  a  home  for  them 
somewhere.  She  could  not  take  them  with  her  to  Cop- 
pinger's  house,  as  she  was  there  as  a  salaried  servant, 
and  not  entitled  to  invite  thither  her  young  relatives. 
Moreover,  she  did  not  want  to  have  them  near  her.  She 
disliked  young  people;  they  gave  trouble,  they  had 
to  be  looked  after,  they  entailed  expenses.  What  was 
she  to  do  with  them  1  Where  was  she  to  put  them  ? 
What  would  they  have  to  live  upon  ?  Would  they  call 
on  her  to  part-maintain  them  ?  Miss  Dionysia  had  a 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  17 

small  sum  put  away,  and  she  had  no  intention  of  break- 
„  ing"  into  it  for  them.  It  was  a  nest-egg",  and  was  laid 
by  against  an  evil  day  that  might  come  on  herself.  She 
had  put  the  money  away  for  herself,  in  her  old  age,  not 
for  the  children  of  her  feeble  brother  and  his  lack-penny 
wife  to  consume  as  moth  and  rust.  As  these  thoughts 
and  questions  passed  through  her  mind,  Aunt  Dionysia 
pulled  open  drawers,  examined  cupboards,  pried  open 
closets,  and  searched  chests  and  wardrobes. 

•'I  wonder  now  what  he  has  put  by  for  them,"  she  said 
aloud. 

"  Do  you  mean  my  dear  papa  ? "  asked  Judith,  whose 
troubled  heart  and  shaken  spirits  were  becoming  angry 
and  restless  under  the  behavior  of  the  hard,  unfeeling 
woman. 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  answered  Mrs.  Trevisa,  facing  round,  and 
glaring  malevolently  at  her  niece.  "  It  is  early  days  to 
talk  of  this,  but  it  must  be  done  sooner  or  later,  and  if 
so,  the  sooner  the  better.  There  is  money  in  the  house, 
I  suppose  ? " 

"  I  do  not  know." 

"  I  must  know.  You  will  want  it — bills  must  be  paid. 
You  will  eat  and  drink,  I  suppose u?  You  must  be  clothed. 
I'll  tell  you  what :  I'll  put  the  whole  case  into  the  hands 
of  Lawyer  Jenkyris,  and  he  shall  demand  arrears  of  tithes. 
I  know  what  quixotish  conduct  Peter— 

"  Aunt,  I  will  not  allow  this."  A  light  flush  came  into 
the  girl's  cheek. 

"It  is  all  very  well  talking,"  said  Aunt  Dionysia; 
"  but  black  is  not  white,  and  no  power  on  earth  can 
make  me  say  that  it  is  so.  Money  must  be  found. 
Money  must  be  paid  for  expenses,  and  it  is  hard  that 
I  should  have  to  find  it ;  so  I  think.  What  money  is 
there  in  the  house  for  present  necessities  ?  I  must 
know." 

Suddenly  a  loud  voice  was  heard  shouting  through 
the  house — 

"  Mother  Dunes !  old  Dunes !  I  want  you." 

Judith  turned  cold  and  white.  Who  was  this  that 
dared  to  bellow  in  the  house  of  death,  when  her  dear, 
dear  father  lay  up-stairs  with  the  blinds  down,  asleep  ? 
It  was  an  insult,  an  outrage.  Her  nerves  had  already 
been  thrilled,  and  her  heart  roused  into  angry  revolt  by 
the  cold,  unfeeling  conduct  of  the  woman  who  was  her 


18  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

sole  relative  in  the  world.  And  now,  as  she  was  thus 
quivering-,  there  came  this  boisterous  shout. 

"It  is  the  master!"  said  Mrs.  Trevisa,  in  an  awe- 
struck voice,  lowered  as  much  as  was  possible  to  her. 

To  Coppinger  alone  she  was  submissive,  cringing",  ob- 
sequious. 

"  What  does  he  mean  by  this — this  conduct  ?  "  asked 
Judith,  trembling-  with  wrath. 

"  He  wants  me." 

Ag-ain  a  shout.     "  Dunes  !  old  fool !  the  keys ! " 

Then  Judith  started  forward,  and  went  through  the 
door  to  the  head  of  the  staircase.  At  the  foot  stood  a 
middle-sized,  strongly  built,  firmly  knit  man,  in  a  dress 
half  belonging-  to  the  land  and  half  to  the  sea,  with  high 
boots  on  his  legs,  and  slouched  hat  on  his  head.  His 
complexion  was  olive,  his  hair  abundant  and  black,  cov- 
ering cheeks  and  chin  and  upper  lip.  His  eyes  were 
hard  and  dark.  He  had  one  brown  hand  on  the  bani- 
ster, and  a  foot  on  the  first  step,  as  though  about  to 
ascend,  when  arrested  by  seeing  the  girl  at  the  head  of 
the  stairs  before  him.  The  house  was  low,  and  the 
steps  led  without  a  break  directly  from  the  hall  to  the 
landing  which  gave  communication  to  the  bedrooms. 
There  was  a  skylight  in  the  roof  over  the  staircase, 
through  which  a  brilliant  flood  of  pure  white  light  fell 
over  Judith,  whereas  every  window  had  been  darkened 
by  drawn  blinds.  The  girl  had  found  no  sombre  dress 
suitable  to  wear,  and  had  been  forced  to  assume  the 
same  white  gown  as  the  day  before,  but  she  had  dis- 
carded the  green  sash  and  had  bound  a  black  ribbon 
about  her  waist,  and  another  about  her  abundant  hair. 
A  black  lace  kerchief  was  drawn  over  her  shoulders 
across  her  breast  and  tied  at  her  back.  She  wore  long, 
black  mittens. 

Judith  stood  motionless,  her  bosom  rising  and  falling 
quickly,  her  lips  set,  the  breath  racing  through  her 
nostrils,  and  one  hand  resting  on  the  banister  at  the 
stair-head. 

In  a  moment  her  eyes  met  those  of  Coppinger,  and 
it  was  at  once  as  though  a  thrill  of  electric  force  had 
passed  between  them. 

He  desisted  from  his  attempt  to  ascend,  and  said, 
without  moving  his  eyes  from  hers,  in  a  subdued  tone, 
"  She  has  taken  the  keys,"  but  he  said  no  more.  He 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  19 

drew  his  foot  from  the  step  hesitatingly,  and  loosened 
his  hand  from  the  banister,  down  which  went  a  thrill 
from  Judith's  quivering-  nerves,  and  he  stepped  back. 

At  the  same  moment  she  descended  a  step,  still  look- 
ing1 steadily  into  the  dark,  threatening  pupils,  with- 
out blinking  or  lowering  her  orbs.  Emboldened  by 
her  boiling  indignation,  she  stood  on  the  step  she  had 
reached  with  both  feet  firmly  planted  there,  and  finding 
that  the  banister  rattled  under  her  hand  she  withdrew 
it,  and  folded  her  arms.  Coppinger  raised  his  hand  to 
his  head  and  took  off  his  hat.  He  had  a  profusion  of 
dark,  curly,  flowing  hair,  that  fell  and  encircled  his 
saturnine  face. 

Then  Judith  descended  another  step,  and  as  she  did 
so  he  retreated  a  step  backwards.  Behind  him  was  the 
hall  door,  open ;  the  light  lay  wan  and  white  there  on 
the  gravel,  for  no  sunshine  had  succeeded  the  gale.  At 
every  step  that  Judith  took  down  the  stair  Coppinger 
retreated.  Neither  spoke;  the  hall  was  still,  save  for 
the  sound  of  their  breath,  and  his  came  as  fast  as  hers. 
When  Judith  had  reached  the  bottom  she  turned — Cop- 
pinger stood  in  the  doorway  now  —  and  signed  to  her 
aunt  to  come  down  with  the  keys. 

"Take  them  to  him — Do  not  give  them  here  —  out- 
side." 

Mrs.  Trevisa,  surprised,  confounded,  descended  the 
stair,  went  by  her,  and  out  through  the  door.  Then  Ju- 
dith stepped  after  her,  shut  the  door  to  exclude  both 
Aunt  Dionysia  and  that  man  Coppinger,  who  had  dared, 
uninvited,  on  such  a  day  to  invade  the  house. 

She  turned  now  to  remount  the  stairs,  but  her 
strength  failed  her,  her  knees  yielded,  and  she  sank 
upon  a  step,  and  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears  and  convul- 
sive sobs. 


CHAPTER  in, 

CAPTAIN  CEUEL. 

Captain  Coppinger  occupied  an  old  farmhouse,  roomy, 
low-built,  granite  quoined  and  mullioned,  called  Pen- 
tyre  Glaze,  in  a  slight  dip  of  the  hills  near  the  cliffs 
above  the  thundering  Atlantic.  One  ash  shivered  at  the 
end  of  the  house — that  was  the  only  tree  to  be  seen  near 
Pentyre  Glaze.  And  —  who  was  Coppinger  ?  That  is 
more  than  can  be  told.  He  had  come — no  one  knew 
whence.  His  arrival  on  the  north  coast  of  Cornwall  was 
mysterious.  There  had  been  haze  over  the  sea  for  three 
days.  When  it  lifted,  a  strange  vessel  of  foreign  rig 
was  seen  lying  off  the  coast.  Had  she  got  there  in  the 
fog,  not  knowing  her  course ;  or  had  she  come  there 
knowingly,  and  was  making  for  the  mouth  of  the  Camel  "? 
A  boat  was  seen  to  leave  the  ship,  and  in  it  a  man 
came  ashore ;  the  boat  returned  to  the  vessel,  that  there- 
upon spread  sail  and  disappeared  in  the  fog  that  re- 
descended  over  the  water.  The  man  gave  his  name  as 
Coppinger — his  Christian  name,  he  said,  was  Curll,  and 
he  was  a  Dane  ;  but  though  his  intonation  was  not  that 
of  the  Cornish,  it  was  not  foreign.  He  took  up  his  resi- 
dence in  S.  Enodoc  at  a  farm,  and  suddenly,  to  the  sur- 
prise of  every  one,  became  by  purchase  the  possessor  of 
Pentyre  Glaze,  then  vacant  and  for  sale.  Had  he  known 
that  the  estate  was  obtainable  when  he  had  come  sud- 
denly out  of  the  clouds  into  the  place  to  secure  it  ?  No- 
body knew,  and  Coppinger  was  silent. 

Thenceforth  Pentyre  Glaze  became  the  harbor  and 
den  of  every  lawless  character  along  the  coast.  All 
kinds  of  wild  uproar  and  reckless  revelry  appalled  the 
neighborhood  day  and  night.  It  was  discovered  that  an 
organized  band  of  smugglers,  wreckers,  and  poachers 
made  this  house  the  centre  of  their  operations,  and  that 
"Cruel  Coppinger"  was  their  captain.  There  were  at 
that  time — just  a  century  ago — no  resident  magistrates 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  ^IIE  SEA.  21 

or  gentry  in  the  immediate  neighborhood.  The  yeomen 
were  bribed,  by  keg's  of  spirits  left  at  their  doors,  to 
acquiesce  in  a  traffic  in  illicit  goods,  and  in  the  matter 
of  exchange  they  took  their  shares.  It  was  said  that  on 
one  occasion  a  preventive  man  named  Ewan  Wyvell, 
who  had  pursued  Coppmger  in  his  boat,  was  taken  by 
him,  and  his  head  chopped  off  by  the  captain,  with  his 
boat  axe,  on  the  gunwale.  Such  was  the  story.  It  was 
never  proved.  Wyvell  had  disappeared,  and  the  body 
was  recovered  headless  on  the  Doom  Bar.  That  violence 
had  been  used  was  undoubted,  but  who  had  committed 
the  crime  was  not  known,  though  suspicion  pointed  to 
Coppinger.  Thenceforth  none  ever  called  him  Curll ; 
by  one  consent  he  was  named  Cruel.  In  the  West  of 
England  every  one  is  given  his  Christian  name.  An  old 
man  is  Uncle,  and  an  old  woman  Aunt,  and  any  one  in 
command  is  a  Captain.  So  Coppmger  was  known  as 
Captain  Cruel,  or  as  Cruel  Coppinger. 

Strange  vessels  were  often  seen  appearing  at  regular 
intervals  on  the  coast,  and  signals  were  flashed  from  the 
one  window  of  Pentyre  Glaze  that  looked  out  to  sea. 

Among  these  vessels,  one,  a  full-rigged  schooner,  soon 
became  ominously  conspicuous.  She  was  for  long  the 
terror  of  the  Cornish  coast.  Her  name  was  The  Black 
Prince.  Once,  with  Coppinger  on  board,  she  led  a  rev- 
enue cutter  into  an  intricate  channel  among  the  rocks, 
where,  from  knowledge  of  the  bearings,  The  Black  Prince 
escaped  scathless,  while  the  king's  vessel  perished  with 
all  on  board. 

Immunity  increased  Coppinger's  daring.  There  were 
certain  bridle-roads  along  the  fields  over  which  he  exer- 
cised exclusive  control.  He  issued  orders  that  no  man 
should  pass  over  them  by  night,  and  accordingly  from 
that  hour  none  ever  did.* 

Moreover,  if  report  spoke  true — and  reports  do  not 
arise  without  cause — Coppinger  was  not  averse  from  tak- 
ing advantage,  and  that  unlawful  advantage,  of  a  wreck. 
By  "  lawful  "  and  "  unlawful "  two  categories  of  acts  are 
distinguished,  not  by  the  laws  of  the  land  but  by  com- 

*  Many  stories  of  Cruel  Coppinger  may  be  found  in  Hawker's  Foot- 
prints of  Former  Men  in  Cornwall.  I  have  also  told  them  in  my 
Vicar  of  Morwenstow.  I  have  ventured  to  translate  the  scene  of 
Coppinger's  activity  further  west,  from  Wellcomhe  to  S.  Enodoc.  But, 
indeed,  he  is  told  of  in  many  places  on  this  coast. 


22  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

mon  consent  of  the  Cornish  conscience.  That  same 
Cornish  conscience  distinguished  wrecking-  into  two 
classes,  as  it  distinguished  then,  and  distinguishes  still, 
witchcraft  into  two  classes.  The  one,  white  witchcraft,  is 
legitimate  and  profitable,  and  to  be  upheld ;  the  other, 
black  witchcraft,  is  reprehensible,  unlawful,  and  to  be  put 
down.  So  with  wrecking.  The  Bristol  Channel  teemed 
with  shipping,  flights  of  white  sails  passed  in  the  offing, 
and  these  vessels  were,  when  inward  bound,  laden  with 
sugars  and  spices  from  the  Indies,  or  with  spirits  and 
wines  from  France.  If  outward  bound  they  were  deep 
in  the  water  with  a  cargo  of  the  riches  of  England. 

Now,  should  a  gale  spring  up  suddenly  and  catch  any 
of  these  vessels,  and  should  the  gale  be — as  it  usually  is, 
and  to  the  Cornish  folk,. favorably  is— from  the  north- 
west, then  there  was  no  harbor  of  refuge  along  that  rock- 
bound  coast,  and  a  ship  that  could  not  make  for  the  open 
was  bound  inevitably  to  be  pounded  to  pieces  against 
the  precipitous  walls  of  the  peninsula.  If  such  were  the 
case,  it  was  perfectly  legitimate  for  every  householder  in 
the  district  to  come  down  on  the  wreck  and  strip  it  of 
everything  it  contained. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  there  was  wrecking  that  was 
disapproved  of,  though  practised  by  a  few,  so  rumor 
said,  and  that  consisted  in  luring  a  vessel  that  was  in 
doubt  as  to  her  course,  by  false  signals,  upon  a  reef  or 
bar,  and  then,  having  made  a  wreck  of  her,  to  pillage  her. 
When  on  a  morning  after  a  night  in  which  there  had 
been  no  gale,  a  ship  was  found  on  the  rocks,  and  picked 
as.  clean  as  the  carcase  of  a  camel  in  the  desert,  it  was 
open  to  suspicion  that  this  ship  had  not  been  driven 
there  by  wind  or  current ;  and  when  the  survivors,  if  they 
reached  the  shore,  told  that  they  had  been  led  to  steer  in 
the  direction  where  they  had  been  cast  away  by  certain 
lights  that  had  wholly  deceived  them,  then  it  was  also 
open  to  suspicion  that  these  lights  had  been  purposely 
exhibited  for  the  sake  of  bringing  that  vessel  to  destruc- 
tion ;  and  when,  further,  it  was  proved  that  a  certain  set 
or  gang  of  men  had  garnered  all  the  profits,  or  almost  all 
the  profits,  that  accrued  from  a  wreck,  before  the  coun- 
tryside was  aware  that  a  wreck  had  occurred,  then  it  was 
certainly  no  very  random  conjecture  that  the  wreck  had 
been  contrived  in  some  fashion  by  those  who  profited  by 
it.  There  were  atrocious  tales  of  murder  of  shipwrecked 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  23 

men  circulating*,  but  these  were  probably  wholly,  or  at 
all  events  in  part,  untrue.  If  when  a  vessel  ran  upon  the 
rocks  she  was  deserted  by  her  crew,  if  they  took  to  the 
boats  and  made  for  shore,  then  there  remained  no  im- 
pediment to  the  wreckers  taking-  possession ;  it  was  only 
in  the  event  of  their  finding  a  skipper  on  board  to  main- 
tain right  over  the  grounded  vessel,  or  the  mariners  still 
on  her  engaged  in  getting  her  off,  that  any  temptation 
to  violence  could  arise.  But  it  was  improbable  that  a 
crew  would  cling  to  a  ship  on  such  a  coast  when  once 
she  was  on  the  breakers.  It  was  a  moral  certainty  that 
they  would  desert  her,  and  leave  .the  wreck  to  be  pillaged 
by  the  rats  from  shore,  without  offer  of  resistance.  The 
character  of  the  coast-wreckers  was  known  to  seamen, 
or  rather  a  legend  full  of  horror  circulated  relative  to 
their  remorseless  savagery.  The  fear  of  wreckers  added 
to  the  fear  of  the  sea  would  combine  to  drive  a  crew,  to 
the  last  man,  into  the  boats.  Consequently,  though  it  is 
possible  that  in  some  cases  murder  of  castaway  men  may 
have  occurred,  such  cases  must  have  been  most  excep- 
tional. The  wreckers  were  only  too  glad  to  build  a 
golden  bridge  by  which  the  wrecked  might  escape. 
Morally,  without  a  question,  those  who  lured  a  hapless 
merchantman  upon  the  rocks  were  guilty  of  the  deaths 
of  those  sailors  who  were  upset  in  their  boats  in  escap- 
ing from  the  vessel,  or  were  dashed  against  the  cliffs  in 
their  attempts  to  land,  but  there  was  no  direct  blood- 
guiltiness  felt  in  such  cases ;  and  those  who  had  reaped 
a  harvest  from  the  sea  counted  their  gains  individually, 
and  made  no  estimate  of  the  misery  accruing  thereby  to 
others. 


CHAPTEE  IV. 

HOP-O'-MY-THUMB. 

"  Listen  to  me,"  said  Judith. 

"  Yes,  Ju  ! " 

The  orphans  were  together  in  the  room  that  had  been 
their  father's,  the  room  in  which  for  some  days  he  had 
lain  with  the  blinds  down,  the  atmosphere  heavy  with 
the  perfume  of  flowers,  and  that  indescribable,  unmis- 
takable scent  of  death.  Often,  every  day,  almost  every 
hour,  had  Judith  stolen  into  the  room  while  he  lay  there, 
to  wonder  with  infinite  reverence  and  admiration  at  the 
purity  and  dignity  of  the  dead  face.  It  was  that  of  the 
dear,  dear  father,  biit  sublimed  beyond  her  imagination. 
All  the  "old  vacillation  was  gone,  the  expression  of  dis- 
tress and  discouragement  had  passed  away,  and  in  their 
place  had  come  a  fixity  and  a  calm,  such  as  one  sees  in 
the  busts  of  the  ancient  Roman  Caesars,  but  with  a 
superadded  ethereality,  if  such  a  word  can  be  used, 
that  a  piece  of  pagan  statuary  never  reached.  Marvel- 
lous, past  finding  out,  it  is  that  death,  which  takes  from 
man  the  spiritual  element,  should  give  to  the  mere  clay 
a  look  of  angelic  spirituality,  yet  so  it  is — so  it  was  with 
the  dead  Peter  Trevisa ;  and  Judith,  with  eyes  filling  as 
fast  as  dried,  stood,  her  hands  folded,  looking  into  his 
face,  felt  that  she  had  never  loved,  never  admired  him 
half  enough  when  he  was  alive.  Life  had  been  the  sim- 
mer in  which  all  the  scum  of  trivialities,  of  infirmities, 
of  sordidness  had  come  to  and  shown  itself  on  the  sur- 
face. Now  Death  had  cleared  these  all  away,  and  in  the 
peaceful  face  of  the  dead  was  seen  the  real  man,  the  no- 
bility, sanctity,  delicacy  that  formed  the  texture  of  his 
soul,  and  which  had  impressed  the  very  clay  wrapped 
about  that  volatile  essence. 

As  long  as  the  dear  father's  body  lay  in  the  house 
Judith  had  not  realized  her  utter  desolation.  But  now 
the  funeral  was  over,  and  she  had  returned  with  her 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  25 

brother  to  the  parsonage,  to  draw  up  the  blinds,  and  let 
the  light  once  more  enter,  and  search  out,  and  revivify 
the  dead  rooms. 

She  was  very  pale,  with  reddened  eyes,  and  looking 
more  fragile  and  transparent  than  ever  she  did  before, 
worn  and  exhausted  by  tearful,  wakeful  nights,  and  by 
days  of  alternating  gusts  of  sorrow  and  busy  prepara- 
tion for  the  funeral,  of  painful  recollections  of  joyous 
clays  that  were  past,  and  of  doubtful  searchings  into  a 
future  that  was  full  of  cloud. 

Her  black  frock  served  to  enhance  her  pallor,  and  to 
make  her  look  thinner,  smaller  .than  when  in  white  or 
in  color. 

She  had  taken  her  place  in  her  father's  high-backed 
leather  chair,  studded  thick  with  brass  nails,  the  leather 
dulled  and  fretted  by  constant  use,  but  the  nail-heads 
burnished  by  the  same  treatment. 

Her  brother  was  in  the  same  chair  with  her  ;  both  his 
arms  were  round  her  neck,  and  his  head  was  on  her 
shoulder.  She  had  her  right  arm  about  his  waist,  her 
left  was  bowed,  the  elbow  leaning  on  the  chair  arm,  her 
hand  folded  inward,  and  her  weary  head  rested  on  its 
back. 

The  fine  weather  broken  in  upon  by  the  gale  had  re- 
turned ;  the  sun  shone  in  unhindered  at  the  window,  and 
blazed  on  the  children's  hair  ;  the  brass  nails,  polished 
by  friction,  twinkled  as  little  suns,  but  were  naught  in 
lustre  to  the  gorgeous  red  of  the  hair  of  the  twins,  for 
the  first  were  but  brass,  and  the  other  of  living  gold. 

Two  more  lonely  beings  could  hardly  be  discovered  on 
the  face  of  the  earth — at  all  events  in  the  peninsula  of 
Cornwall — but  the  sense  of  this  loneliness  was  summed 
in  the  heart  of  Judith,  and  was  there  articulate  ;  Jamie 
was  but  dimly  conscious  of  discomfort  and  bereavement. 
She  knew  what  her  father's  death  entailed  on  her,  or 
knew  in  part,  and  conjectured  more.  Had  she  been  left 
absolutely  alone  in  the  world  her  condition  would  have 
been  less  difficult  than  it  was  actually,  encumbered  with 
her  helpless  brother.  Swimming  alone  in  the  tossing 
sea,  she  might  have  struck  out  with  confidence  that  she 
could  keep  her  head  above  water,  but  it  was  quite  other- 
wise when  clinging  to  her  was  a  poor,  half-witted  boy, 
incapable  of  doing  anything  to  save  himself,  and  all 
whose  movements  tended  only  to  embarrass  her.  Not 


26  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

that  she  regretted  for  an  instant  having-  to  care  for 
Jamie,  for  she  loved  him  with  sisterly  and  motherly 
love  combined,  intensified  in  force  by  fusion ;  if  to  her 
a  future  seemed  inconceivable  without  Jamie,  a  future 
without  him  would  be  one  without  ambition,  pleasure, 
or  interest. 

The  twin  brother  was  very  like  her,  with  the  same 
beautiful  and  abundant  hair,  delicate  in  build,  and  with 
the  same  refined  face,  but  without  the  flashes  of  alter- 
nating- mood  that  lightened  and  darkened  her  face.  His 
had  a  searching-,  bewildered,  distressed  expression  on  it 
—the  only  expression  it  ever  bore  except  when  he  was 
out  of  temper,  and  then  it  mirrored  on  its  surface  his 
inward  ill-humor.  His  was  an  appealing*  face,  a  face 
that  told  of  a  spirit  infantile,  innocent,  and  ignorant, 
that  would  never  grow  stronger,  but  which  could  deteri- 
orate by  loss  of  innocence — the  only  charg%e  of  which  it 
was  capable.  The  boy  had  no  inherent  naughtiness  in 
him,  but  was  constantly  falling-  into  mischief  through 
thoughtlessness,  and  he  was  difficult  to  manage  because 
incapable  of  reasoning. 

What  every  one  saw — that  he  never  would  be  other 
than  what  he  was — Judith  would  not  admit.  She  ac- 
knowledged his  inaptitude  at  his  books,  his  frivolity, 
his  restlessness,  but  believed  that  these  were  infirmities 
to  be  overcome,  and  that  when  overcome  the  boy  would 
be  as  other  boys  are. 

Now  these  children — they  were  aged  eighteen,  but 
Jamie  looked  four  years  younger — sat  in  their  father's 
chair,  clinging  to  each  other,  all  in  all  to  one  another, 
for  they  had  no  one  else  to  love  and  who  loved  them. 

"  Listen  to  me,  Jamie." 

"  Yes,  Ju,  I  be- 

"  Don't  say  '  I  be  '—say  '  I  am/  " 

"Yes,  Ju." 

"  Jamie,  dear ! "  she  drew  her  arm  tighter  about  him  ; 
her  heart  was  bounding,  and  every  beat  caused  her  pain. 
"  Jamie,  dear,  you  know  that,  now  dear  papa  is  gone, 
and  you  will  never  see  him  in  this  world  again,  that— 

"Yes,  Ju." 

"  That  I  have  to  look  to  you,  my  brother,  to  stand  up 
for  me  like  a  man,  to  think  and  do  for  me  as  well  as  for 
yourself — a  brave,  stout,  industrious  fellow." 

"  Yes,  Ju." 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  27 

"  I  am  a  girl,  and  you  will  soon  be  a  man,  and  must 
work  for  both  of  us.  You  must  earn  the  money,  and  I 
will  spend  it  frugally  as  we  both  require  it.  Then  we 
shall  be  happy  again,  and  dear  papa  in  Paradise  will  be 
glad  and  smile,  on  us.  ,You  will  make  an  effort,  will  you 
not,  Jamie  ?  Hitherto  you  have  been  able  to  run  about 
and  play  and  squander  your  time,  but  now  serious  days 
have  come  upon  us,  and  you  must  fix  your  mind  on  work 
and  determine — Jamie — mind,  screw  your  heart  to  a 
strong  determination  to  put  away  childish  things  and 
be  a  man,  and  a  strength  and  a  comfort  to  me." 

He  put  up  his  lips  to  kiss  her  cheek,  but  could  not 
reach  it,  as  her  head  was  leaning  on  her  hand  away  from 
him. 

"What  are  you  fidgeting  at,  my  dear?"  she  asked, 
without  stirring,  feeling  his  body  restless  under  her  arm. 

"  A  nail  is  coming  out,"  he  answered. 

It  was  so;  whilst  she  had  been  speaking  to  him  he 
was  working  at  one  of  the  brass  studs,  and  had  loosened 
its  bite  in  the  chair. 

"Oh,  Jamie!  you  are  making  work  by  thus  drawing 
out  a  nail.  Can  you  not  help  me  a  little,  and  reduce  the 
amount  one  has  to  think  of  and  do  I  You  have  not  been 
attending  to  what  I  said,  and  I  was  so  much  in  earnest." 
She  spoke  in  a  tone  of  discouragement,  and  the  tone, 
more  than  the  words,  impressed  the  susceptible  heart  of 
the  boy.  He  began  to  cry. 

"  You  are  cross." 

"  I  am  not  cross,  my  pet ;  I  am  never  cross  with  you,  I 
love  you  too  dearly ;  but  you  try  my  patience  some- 
times, and  just  now  I  am  overstrained — and  then  I  did 
want  to  make  you  understand." 

"  Now  papa's  dead  I'll  do  no  more  lessons,  shall  I  ? " 
asked  Jamie,  cpaxingly. 

"  You  must,  indeed,  and  with  me  instead  of  papa." 

"  Not  rosa,  rosce  ?  " 

"  Yes,  rosa  rosce" 

Then  he  sulked. 

"  I  don't  love  you  a  bit.  It  is  not  fair.  Papa  is  dead, 
so  I  ought  not  to  have  any  more  lessons.  I  hate  rosa, 
TOSCK  !  "  He  kicked  the  legs  of  the  chair  peevishly  with 
his  heels.  As  his  sister  said  nothing,  seemed  to  be  in- 
attentive— for  she  was  weary  and  dispirited — he  slapped 
her  cheek  by  raising  his  hand  over  his  head. 


28  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

"  "What,  Jamie,  strike  me,  your  only  friend  ? " 

Then  lie  threw  his  arms  round  her  again,  and  kissed 
her.  "  I'll  love  you ;  only,  Ju,  say  I  am  not  to  do  rosa, 
TOSCR  !  " 

"How  long-  have  you  been  working  at  the  first  de- 
clension in  the  Latin  grammar,  Jamie  I " 

He  tried  for  an  instant  to  think,  gave  up  the  effort, 
laid  his  head  on  her  shoulder,  and  said : 

"I  don't  know  and  don't  care.  Say  I  am  not  to  do 
rosa,  rosce  !  " 

"  What !  not  if  papa  wished  it  ?  " 

"  I  hate  the  Lajin  grammar !  " 

For  a  while  both  remained  silent.  Judith  felt  the 
tension  to  which  her  mind  and  nerves  had  been  sub- 
jected, and  lapsed  momentarily  into  a  condition  of  some- 
thing like  unconsciousness,  in  which  she  was  dimly 
sensible  of  a  certain  satisfaction  rising  out  of  the  pause 
in  thought  and  effort.  The  boy  lay  quiet,  with  his  head 
on  her  shoulder,  for  a  while,  then  withdrew  his  arms, 
folded  his  hands  on  his  lap,  and  began  to  make  a  noise 
by  compressing  the  air  between  the  palms. 

"  There's  a  finch  out  there  going  '  chink !  chink ! '  and 
listen,  Ju,  I  can  make  'chink  !  chink ! '  too." 

Judith  recovered  herself  from  her  distraction,  and 
said : 

"Never  mind  the  finch  now.  Think  of  what  I  say. 
We  shall  have  to  leave  this  house." 

"  Why  ? " 

"  Of  course  we  must,  sooner  or  later,  and  the  sooner 
the  better.  It  is  no  more  ours." 

"  Yes,  it  is  ours.     I  have  my  rabbits  here." 

"  Now  that  papa  is  dead  it  is  no  longer  ours." 

"It's  a  wicked  shame." 

"  Not  at  all,  Jamie.  This  house  was  given  to  papa  for 
his  life  only;  now  it  will  go  to  a  new  rector,  and  Aunt 
Dunes  *  is  going  to  fetch  us  away  to  another  house." 

"When?" 

"To-day." 

"  I  won't  go,"  said  the  boy.     "  I  swear  I  won't." 

"  Hush,  hush,  Jamie !  Don't  use  such  expressions. 
I  do  not  know  where  you  have  picked  them  up.  We 
must  go." 

"  And  my  rabbits,  are  they  to  go  too  ?  " 

*  Dunes  is  the  short  for  Dionysia. 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  29 


"  The  rabbits  ?     We'll  see  about  them.     Aunt- 
"  I  hate  Aunt  Dunes !  " 


:'  You  really  must  not  call  her  that ;  if  she  hears  you 
she  will  be  very  angry.  And  consider,  she  has  been 
taking1  a  great  deal  of  trouble  about  us." 

"  I  don't  care." 

"  My  dear,  she  is  dear  papa's  sister." 

"  Why  didn't  papa  get  a  nicer  sister — like  you  ? " 

"  Because  he  had  to  take  what  God  gave  him." 

The  boy  pouted,  and  began  to  kick  his  heels  against 
the  chair-legs  once  more. 

"Jamie,  we  must  leave  this  house  to-day.  Aunt  is 
coming  to  take  us  both  away." 

"  I  won't  go." 

"  But,  Jamie,  I  am  going,  and  the  cook  is  going,  and 
so  is  Jane." 

"  Are  cook  and  Jane  coming  with  us  ?  " 

"  No,  dear." 

"Why  not?" 

"  We  shall  not  want  them.  We  cannot  afford  to  keep 
them  any  more,  to  pay  their  wages ;  and  then  we  shall 
not  go  into  a  house  of  our  own.  You  must  come  with 
me,  and  be  a  joy  and  rest  to  me,  dear  Jamie." 

She  turned  her.  head  over,  and  leaned  it  on  his  head. 
The  sun  glowed  in  their  mingled  hair — all  of  one  tinge 
and  lustre.  It  sparkled  in  the  tears  on  her  cheek. 

"  Ju,  may  I  have  these  buttons  1 " 

"  What  buttons  <?  " 

"  Look ! " 

He  shook  himself  free  from  his  sister,  slid  his  feet  to 
the  ground,  went  to  a  bureau,  and  brought  to  his  sister 
a  large  open  basket  that  had  been  standing  on  the  top 
of  the  bureau.  It  had  been  turned  out  of  a  closet  by 
Aunt  Dionysia,  and  contained  an  accumulation  of  those 
most  profitless  of  collected  remnants — odd  buttons,  coat 
buttons,  brass,  smoked  mother-of-pearl,  shirt  buttons, 
steel  clasps — buttons  of  all  kinds,  the  gathering  together 
made  during  twenty-five  years.  Why  the  basket,  after 
having  been  turned  out  of  a  lumber-closet,  had  been  left 
in  the  room  of  death,  or  why,  if  turned  out  elsewhere,  it 
had  been  .brought  there,  is  more  than  even  the  novelist 
can  tell.  Suffice  it  that  there  it  was,  and  by  whom  put 
there  could  not  be  said. 

"  Oh  !  what  a  store  of  pretty  buttons  !  "  exclaimed  the 


30  IN  THE  ROAR  OF1  THE  SEA. 

boy.  "  Do  look,  Ju,  these  great  big-  ones  are  just  like 
those  on  Cheap  Jack's  red  waistcoat.  Here  is  a  brass  one 
with  a  horse  on  it.  Do  see !  Oh,  Ju,  please  get  your 
needle  and  thread  and  sew  this  one  on  to  my  black 
dress." 

Judith  sighed.  It  was  in  vain  for  her  to  impress  the 
realities  of  the  situation  on  his  wandering  mind. 

"Hark!"  she  exclaimed.  "There  is  -Aunt  Dunes.  I 
hear  her  voice — how  loud  she  speaks  !  She  has  come  to 
fetch  us  away." 

"  Where  is  she  going  to  take  us  to  1 " 

"  I  do  not  know,  Jamie." 

"  She  will  take  us  into  the  forest  and  lose  us,  like  as 
did  Hop-o'-my-Thumb's  father." 

"  There  are  no  forests  here — hardly  any  trees." 

"  She  will  leave  us  in  the  forest  and  run  away. 

"  Nonsense,  Jamie !  " 

"I  am  sure  she  will.  She  doesn't  like  us.  She  wants 
to  get  rid  of  us.  I  don't  care.  May  I  have  the  basket  of 
buttons  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Jamie." 

"Then  I'll  be  Hop -o'-rny -Thumb." 


CHAPTEK  V. 

THE  BUTTONS. 

It  was  as  Judith  surmised.  Mrs.  Dionysia  Trevisa 
had  come  to  remove  her  nephew  and  niece  from  the 
rectory.  She  was  a  woman  decided  in  character,  espe- 
cially in  all  that  concerned  her  interests.  She  had  made 
up  her  mind  that  the  children  could  not  be  left  unpro- 
tected in  the  parsonage,  and  she  could  not  be  with  them. 
Therefore  they  must  go.  The  servants  must  leave ;  they 
would  be  paid  their  month's  wage,  but  by  dismissing 
them  their  keep  would  be  economized.  There  was  a 
factotum  living  in  a  cottage  near,  who  did  the  garden- 
ing, the  cinder-sifting,  and  boot-cleaning  for  the  rectory 
inmates,  he  would  look  after  the  empty  house,  and  wait 
on  in  hopes  of  being  engaged  to  garden,  sift  cinders,  and 
clean  boots  for  the  new  rector. 

As  it  was  settled  that  the  children  must  leave  the 
house,  the  next  thing  to  consider  was  where  they  were 
to  be  placed.  The  aunt  could  not  take  them  to  Pentyre 
Glaze ;  that  was  not  to  be  thought  of.  They  must  be 
disposed  of  in  some  other  way. 

Mrs.  Trevisa  had  determined  on  a  sale  of  her  brother's 
effects :  his  furniture,  bedding,  curtains,  carpets,  books, 
plate,  and  old  sermons.  She  was  anxious  to  realize  as 
soon  as  possible,  so  as  to  know  for  certain  what  she 
could  calculate  upon  as  being  left  her  for  the  support  of 
Judith  and  her  brother.  To  herself  the  rector  had  left 
only  a  ring  and  five  guineas.  She  had  not  expected 
more.  His  decease  was  not  likely  to  be  a  benefit,  but, 
on  the  contrary,  an  embarrassment  to  her.  He  had  left 
about  a  thousand  pounds,  but  then  Mrs.  Trevisa  did  not 
yet  know  how  large  a  bite  out  of  this  thousand  pounds 
would  be  taken  by  the  dilapidations  on  rectory,  glebe, 
and  chancel.  The  chancel  of  the  church  was  in  that  con- 
tioii  that  it  afforded  a  wide  margin  for  the  adjudication 
of  dilapidations.  They  might  be  set  down  at  ten  shil- 


32  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

lings  or  a  thousand  pounds,  and  no  one  could  say  which 
was  the  fairest  sum,  as  the  chancel  was  deep  in  sand  and 
invisible.  The  imagination  of  the  valuer  might  declare 
it  to  be  sound  or  to  be  rotten,  and  till  dug  out  no  one 
could  impeach  his  judgment. 

In  those  days,  when  an  incumbent  died,  the  widow  and 
orphans  of  the  deceased  appointed  a  valuer,  and  the  in- 
coming rector  nominated  his  valuer,  and  these  two  cor- 
morants looked  each  other  in  the  eyes— said  to  each 
other, "  Brother,  what  pickings  ?  "  And  as  less  resistance 
to  being  lacerated  and  cleaned  to  the  bone  was  to  be  an- 
ticipated from  broken-hearted  widow  and  helpless  chil- 
dren than  from  a  robust,  red-faced  rector,  the  cormorants 
contrived  to  rob  the  widow  and  the  fatherless.  Then  that 
cormorant  who  had  been  paid  to  look  after  the  interest  of 
the  widow  and  children  and  had  not  done  it  said  to  the 
other  cormorant,  "Brother,  I've  done  you  a  turn  this 
time  ;  do  me  the  like  when  the  chance  falls  to  you."  Now, 
although  nominally  the  money  picked  off  the  sufferers  was 
to  go  to  the  account  of  the  incomer,  it  was  not  allowed 
to  pass  till  the  cormorants  had  taken  toll  of  it.  More- 
over, these  cormorants  were  architects,  builders,  solici- 
tors, or  contractors  of  some  sort,  and  looked  to  get  some- 
thing further  out  of  the  incoming  man  they  favored, 
whereas  they  knew  they  could  get  nothing  at  all  out  of 
the  departed  man  who  was  buried.  Now  we  have  pre- 
tended to  change  all  this ;  let  us  persuade  ourselves  we 
have  made  the  conduct  of  these  matters  more  honest  and 
just. 

Aunt  Dionysia  did  not  know  by  experience  what 
valuers  for  dilapidations  were,  but  she  had  always  heard 
that  valuation  for  dilapidations  materially  diminished 
the  property  of  a  deceased  incumbent.  She  was  conse- 
quently uneasy,  and  anxious  to  know  the  worst,  and 
make  the  best  of  the  circumstances  that  she  could.  She 
saw  clearly  enough  that  the  sum  that  would  remain 
when  debts  and  valuation  were  paid  would  be  insufficient 
to  support  the  orphans,  and  she  saw  also  with  painful 
clearness  that  there  would  be  a  necessity  for  her  to  sup- 
plement their  reduced  income  from  her  own  earnings. 
This  conviction  did  not  sweeten  her  temper  and  increase 
the  cordiality  with  which  she  treated  her  nephew  and 
niece. 

"  Now,   hoity-toity !  "   said  Aunt  Dionysia ;  "  I'm  not 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  33 

one  of  your  mewlers  and  pewkers.  I  have  my  work  to 
do,  and  can't  afford  to  waste  time  in  the  luxury  of  tears. 
You  children  shall  come  with  me.  I  will  see  you  settled 
in,  and  then  Balhachet  shall  wheel  over  your  boxes  and 
whatever  we  want  for  the  night.  I  have  been  away  from 
my  duties  longer  than  I  ought,  and  the  maids  are  run- 
ning' wild,  are  after  every  one  who  comes  near  the  place 
like  horse-flies  round  the  cattle  on  a  sultry  day.  I  will 
see  you  to  your  quarters,  and  then  you  must  shift  for 
yourselves.  Balhachet  can  come  and  go  between  the 
rectory  and  Zachie  Menaida  as  much  as  you  want." 

"  Are  we  going  to  Mr.  Menaida's,  aunt  1 "  asked 
Judith. 

"  Did  I  not  say  Zachie  Menaida !  If  I  said  Zachie 
Menaida  I  suppose  I  meant  what  I  said,  or  are  you  hard 
of  hearing  ?  Come — time  to  me  is  precious.  Bustle — 
bustle — don't  keep  me  waiting  while  you  gape." 

After  a  while  Mrs.  Trevisa  succeeded  in  getting  her 
nephew  and  niece  to  start.  Judith,  indeed,  was  ready  at 
the  first  suggestion  to  go  with  her  aunt,  glad  to  get  over 
the  pang  of  leaving  the  house  as  quickly  as  might  be. 
It  was  to  be  the  rupture  of  one  thread  of  the  tie  that 
bound  her  to  the  past,  but  an  important  thread.  She  was 
to  leave  the  house  as  a  home,  though  she  would  return 
to  it  again  and  again  to  carry  away  from  it  such  of  her 
possessions  as  she  required  and  could  find  a  place  for  at 
Zachary  Menaida's.  But  with  Jamie  it  was  otherwise.  He 
had  run  away,  and  had  to  be  sought,  and  when  found 
coaxed  and  cajoled  into  following  his  aunt  and  sister. 

Judith  had  found  him,  for  she  knew  his  nooks  and 
dens.  He  was  seated  in  a  laurel -bush  playing  with  the 
buttons. 

"  Look,  Ju !  there  is  some  broken  mirror  among  the 
buttons.  Stand  still,  and  I  will  make  the  sun  jump  into 
your  eyes.  Open  your  mouth,  and  I  will  send  him  down 
your  throat.  Won't  it  be  fun ;  I'll  tease  old  Dunes  with 
it." 

"  Then  come  along  with  me." 

He  obeyed. 

The  distance  to  Zachary  Menaida's  cottage  was  about 
a  mile  and  a  quarter,  partly  through  parish  roads, 
partly  through  lanes,  the  way  in  parts  walled  and 
hedged  up  against  the  winds,  in  others  completely  ex- 
posed to  every  breath  of  air  where  it  traversed  a  down. 


34  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

Judith  walked  forward  with  her  aunt,  and  Jamie 
lagged.  Occasionally  his  sister  turned  her  head  to  re- 
assure herself  that  he  had  not  given  them  the  slip  ; 
otherwise  she  attended  as  closely  as  she  was  able  to  the 
instructions  and  exhortations  of  her  aunt..  She  and  her 
brother  were  to  be  lodged  temporarily  at  Uncle  Zachie's, 
that  is  to  say,  with  Mr.  Menaida,  an  elderly,  somewhat 
eccentric  man,  who  occupied  a  double  cottage  at  the 
the  little  hamlet  of  Polzeath.  No  final  arrangement  as 
to  the  destination  of  the  orphans  could  be  made  till 
Aunt  Dunes  knew  the  result  of  the  sale,  and  how  much 
remained  to  the  children  after  the  father's  trifling  debts 
had  been  paid,  and  the  considerable  slice  had  been  cut 
out  of  it  by  the  valuers  for  dilapidations.  Mrs.  Trevisa 
talked  fast  in  her  harsh  tones,  and  in  a  loud  voice,  with- 
out undulation  or  softness  in  it,  and  expected  her  niece 
to  hear  and  give  account  for  everything  she  told  her, 
goading  her  to  attention  with  a  sharp  reminder  when 
she  deemed  that  her  mind  was  relaxed,  and  whipping 
her  thoughts  together  when  she  found  them  wandering. 
But,  indeed,  it  was  not  possible  to  forget  for  one  mo- 
ment the  presence  and  personality  of  Dionysia,  though 
the  subject  of  her  discourse  might  be  unnoticed. 

Every  fibre  of  Judith's  heart  was  strung  and  strained 
to  the  uttermost,  to  acutest  feeling,  and  a  sympathetic 
hand  drawn  across  them  would  have  produced  a  soft, 
thrilling,  musical  wail.  Her  bosom  was  so  full  to  over- 
flow that  a  single  word  of  kindness,  a  look  even  that  told 
of  love,  would  have  sufficed  to  make  the  child  cast  her- 
self in  a  convulsion  of  grief  into  her  aunt's  arms,  bury 
her  face  in  her  bosom,  and  weep  out  her  pent-up  tears. 
Then,  after  perhaps  half  an  hour,  she  would  have  looked 
up  through  the  rain  into  her  aunt's  face,  and  have 
smiled,  and  have  loved  that  aunt  passionately,  self-sac- 
rificingly,  to  her  dying  day.  She  was  disposed  to  love 
her — for  was  not  Dionysia  the  only  relative  she  had ; 
and  was  she  not  the  very  sister  of  that  father  who  had 
been  to  her  so  much?  But  Mrs.  Trevisa  was  not  the 
woman  to  touch  the  taught  cords  with  a  light  hand,  or 
to  speak  or  look  in  love.  She  was  hard,  angular,  un- 
sympathetic; and  her  manner,  the  intonations  of  her 
voice,  her  mode  of  address,  the  very  movements  of  her 
body,  acted  on  the  strained  nerves  as  a  rasping  file,  that 
would  fret  till  it  had  torn  them  through. 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  35 

Suddenly  round  a  corner,  where  the  narrow  road 
turned,  two  hundred  yards  ahead,  dashed  a  rider  on  a 
black  steed,  and  Judith  immediately  recognized  Cop- 
pinger  on  his  famous  mare  Black  Bess ;  a  mare  much 
talked  of,  named  after  the  horse  ridden  by  Dick  Turpiii. 
The  recognition  was  mutual.  He  knew  her  instantly ; 
with  a  jerk  of  the  rein  and  a  set  of  the  brow  she  showed 
that  he  was  not  indifferent. 

Coppinger  wore  his  slouched  hat,  tied  under  his  chin 
and  beard,  a  necessary  precaution  in  that  gale-swept  coun- 
try ;  on  his  feet  to  his  knees  were  high  boots.  He  wore 
a  blue  knitted  jersey,  and  a  red  kerchief  about  his  throat. 

Captain  Cruel  slightly  slackened  his  pace,  as  the  lane 
was  narrow  ;  and  as  he  rode  past  his  dark  brow  was 
knit,  and  his  eyes  flashed  angrily  at  Judith.  He  deigned 
neither  a  glance  nor  a  word  to  his  housekeeper,  who 
courtesied  and  assumed  a  fawning  expression. 

When  he  had  passed  the  two  women  he  dug  his  spurs 
into  Black  Bess  and  muttered  some  words  they  did  not 
hear. 

Judith,  who  had  stood  aside,  now  came  forward  into 
the  midst  of  the  roadway  and  rejoined  her  aunt,  who 
began  to  say  something,  when  her  words  arid  Judith's 
attention  was  arrested  by  shouts,  oaths,  and  cries  in 
their  rear. 

Judith  and  her  aunt  turned  to  discover  the  occasion  of 
this  disturbance,  and  saw  that  Coppinger  was  off  his 
horse,  on  his  feet,  dragging  the  brute  by  the  rein,  and 
was  hurling  his  crop,  or  hunting-whip,  as  he  pursued 
Jamie  flying  from  him  with. cries  of  terror.  But  that 
he  held  the  horse  and  could  not  keep  up  with  the  boy, 
Jamie  would  have  suffered  severely,  for  Coppinger  was 
in  a  livid  fury. 

Jamie  flew  to  his  sister. 

"  Save  me,  Ju  !  he  wants  to  kill  me." 

"  What  have  you  done  ?  " 

"  It  is  only  the  buttons." 

"Buttons,  dear?" 

But  the  boy  was  too  frightened  to  explain. 

Then  Judith  drew  her  lorother  behind  her,  took  from 
him  the  basket  he  was  carrying,  and  stepped  to  en- 
counter the  angry  man,  who  came  on,  now  struggling 
with  his  horse,  cursing  Bess  because  she  drew  back, 
then  plunging  forward  with  his  whip  above  his  head 


36  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

brandished  menacingly,  and  by  this  conduct  further 
alarmed  Black  Bess. 

Judith  met  Coppinger,  and  he  was  forced  to  stay  his 
forward  course. 

"  "What  has  he  done  ?  "  asked  the  girl.  "  Why  do  you 
threaten  ?  " 

"The  cursed  idiot  has  strewn  bits  of  glass  and  buttons 
along  the  road,"  answered  the  Captain,  angrily.  "  Stand 
aside  that  I  may  lash  him,  and  teach  him  to  frighten 
horses  and  endanger  men's  lives." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  what  Jamie  has  done.  I  will  pick  up 
the  things  he  has  thrown  down." 

Cruel  Coppinger's  eyes  glistened  with  wrath.  He 
gathered  the  lash  of  his  whip  into  his  palm  along  with 
the  handle,  and  gripped  them  passionately. 

"  Curse  the  fool !  My  Bess  was  frightened,  dashed  up 
the  bank,  and  all  but  rolled  over.  Do  you  know  he 
might  have  killed  me  ? " 

"  You  must  excuse  him  ;  he  is  a  very  child." 

"  I  will  not  excuse  him.  I  will  cut  the  flesh  off  his 
back  if  I  catch  him." 

He  put  the  end  of  the  crop  handle  into  his  mouth, 
and,  putting  his  right  hand  behind  him,  gathered  the 
reins  up  shorter  and  wound  them  more  securely  about 
his  left  hand. 

Judith  walked  backward,  facing  him,  and  he  turned 
with  his  horse  and  went  after  her.  She  stooped  and 
gathered  up  a  splinter  of  glass.  The  sun  striking 
through  the  gaps  in  the  hedge  had  flashed  on  these 
scraps  of  broken  mirror  and  of  white  bone,  or  burnished 
brass  buttons,  and  the  horse  had  been  frightened  at 
them.  As  Judith  stooped  and  took  up  now  a  buckle, 
then  a  button,  and  then  some  other  shining  trifle,  she 
hardly  for  an  instant  withdrew  her  eyes  from  Coppinger ; 
they  had  in  them  the  same  dauntless  defiance  as  when 
she  encountered  him  on  the  stairs  of  the  rectory.  But 
now  it  was  she  who  retreated,  step  by  step,  and  he  who 
advanced,  and  yet  he  could  not  flatter  himself  that  he 
was  repelling  her.  She  maintained  her  strength  and 
mastery  unbroken  as  she  retreated. 

"  Why  do  you  look  at  me  so  ?  Why  do  you  walk  back- 
ward ?  " 

"  Because  I  mistrust  you.  I  do  not  know  what  you 
might  do  were  I  not  to  confront  you," 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  37 

"What  I  might  do?  What  do  you  think  I  would 
do  «  " 

"  I  cannot  tell.    I  mistrust  you." 

"  Do  you  think  me  capable  of  lashing  at  you  with  my 
crop  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  capable  of  anything." 

"  Flattering  that !  "  he  shouted,  angrily. 

"  You  would  have  lashed  at  Jamie." 

"  And  why  not  *    He  might  have  killed  me." 

"  He  might  have  killed  you,  but  you  should  not  have 
touched  him — not  have  thought  of  touching  him." 

"  Indeed !     Why  not  ? " 

"  Why  not  ? "  She  raised  herself  upright  and  looked 
straight  into  his  eyes,  in  which  fire  flickered,  flared, 
then  decayed,  then  flared  again. 

"  You  are  no  Dane,  or  you  would  not  have  asked  '  Why 
not  I '  twice.  Nay,  you  would  not  have  asked  it  once." 

"  Not  a  Dane  ? "  His  beard  and  mustache  were 
quivering,  and  he  snorted  with  anger. 

"  A  Dane,  I  have  read  in  history,  is  too  noble  and  brave 
to  threaten  women  and  to  strike  children." 

He  uttered  an  oath  and  ground  his  teeth. 

"  No ;  a  Dane  would  never  have  thought  of  asking 
why  not  ? — why  not  lash  a  poor  little  silly  boy  ? " 

"  You  insult  me  !     You  dare  to  do  it  ? " 

Her  blood  was  surging  in  her  heart.  As  she  looked 
into  this  man's  dark  and  evil  face  she  thought  of  all  the 
distress  he  had  caused  her  father,  and  a  wave  of  loathing 
swept  over  her,  nerved  her  to  defy  him  to  the  uttermost, 
and  to  proclaim  all  the  counts  she  had  against  him. 

"  I  dare  do  it,"  she  said,  "  because  you  made  my  own 
dear  papa's  life  full  of  bitterness  and  pain— 

"  I !  I  never  touched  him,  hardly  spoke  to  him.  I 
don't  care  to  have  to  do  with  parsons." 

"  You  made  his  life  one  of  sorrow  through  your  god- 
less, lawless  ways,  leading  his  poor  flock  astray,  and  bid- 
ding them  mock  at  his  warnings  and  despise  his  teach- 
ings. Almost  with  his  last  breath  he  spoke  of  you,  and 
the  wretchedness  of  heart  you  had  caused  him.  And  then 
you  dared — yes — you  dared — you  dared  to  burst  into  our 
house  where  he  lay  dead,  with  shameful  insolence  to  dis- 
turb its  peace.  And  now — "  she  gasped,  "  and  now,  all ! 
you  lie  when  you  say  you  are  a  Dane,  and  talk  of  cutting 
and  lashing  the  dead  father's  little  boy  on  his  father's 


38  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

burial  day.  You  are  but  one  thing-  I  can  name — a  cow- 
ard ! " 

Did  lie  mean  it  ?  No !  But  blinded,  stung  to  mad- 
ness by  her  words,  especially  that  last,  he  raised  his 
right  arm  with  the  crop. 

Did  she  mean  it?  No!  But  in  the  instinct  of  self- 
preservation,  thinking-  he  was  about  to  strike  her,  she 
dashed  the  basket  of  buttons  in  his  face,  and  they  flew 
right  and  left  over  him,  against  the  head  of  Black  Bess, 
a  rain  of  fragments  of  mirror,  brass,  steel,  mother-of- 
pearl,  and  bone. 

The  effect  was  instantaneous.  The  mare  plunged, 
reared,  threw  Coppinger  backward  from  off  his  feet, 
dashed  him  to  the  ground,  dragged  him  this  way,  that 
way,  bounded,  still  drawing  him  about  by  the  twisted 
reins,  into  the  hedge,  then  back,  with  her  hoofs  upon 
him,  near,  if  not  on,  his  head,  his  chest — then,  released 
by  the  snap  of  the  rein,  or  through  its  becoming  disen- 
gaged, Bess  darted  down  the  lane,  was  again  brought  to 
a  standstill  by  the  glittering-  fragments  on  the  ground, 
turned,  rushed  back  in  the  direction  whence  she  had 
come,  and  disappeared. 

Judith  stood  panting,  paralyzed  with  fear  and  dismay. 
Was  he  dead,  broken  to  pieces,  pounded  by  those  strong* 
hoofs  ? 

He  was  not  dead.  He  was  rolling  himself  on  the 
ground,  struggling  clumsily  to  his  knees. 

"  Are  you  satisfied  ?  "  he  shouted,  glaring  at  her  like 
a  wild  beast  through  his  tangled  black  hair  that  had 
fallen  over  his  face.  "  I  cannot  strike  you  nor  your 
brother  now.  My  arm  and  the  Lord  knows  what  other 
bones  are  broken.  You  have  done  that — and  I  owe  you 
something  for  it." 


CHAPTER  YL 

UNCLE  ZACHIE. 

The  astonishment,  the  consternation  of  Mrs.  Trevisa 
at  what  had  occurred,  which  she  could  not  fully  compre- 
hend, took  from  her  the  power  to  speak.  She  had  seen 
her  niece  in  conversation  with  Cruel  Coppinger,  and  had 
caught  snatches  of  what  had  passed  between  them.  All 
his  words  had  reached  her,  and  some  of  Judith's.  When, 
suddenly,  she  saw  the  girl  dash  the  basket  of  buttons  in 
the  face  of  the  Captain,  saw  him  thrown  to  the  ground, 
drawn  about  by  his  frantic  horse,  and  left,  as  she  thought, 
half  dead,  her  dismay  was  unbounded.  It  might  have 
been  that  Coppinger  threatened  Judith  with  his  whip, 
but  nothing  could  excuse  her  temerity  in  resisting  him, 
in  resisting  him  and  protecting  herself  in  the  way  she 
did.  The  consequences  of  that  resistance  she  could  not 
measure.  Coppinger  was  bruised,  bones  were  broken, 
and  Aunt  Dionysia  knew  the  nature  of  the  man  too  well 
not  to  expect  his  deadly  animosity,  and  to  feel  sure  of 
implacable  revenge  against  the  girl  who  had  injured  him 
— a  revenge  that  would  envelop  all  who  belonged  to  her, 
and  would  therefore  strike  herself. 

The  elderly  spinster  had  naturally  plenty  of  strength 
and  hardness  that  would  bear  her  through  most  shocks 
without  discomposure,  but  such  an  incident  as  that  which 
had  just  taken  place  before  her  eyes  entirely  unnerved 
and  dismayed  her. 

Coppinger  was  conveyed  home  by  men  called  to  the 
spot,  and.  Mrs.  Trevisa  walked  on  with  her  niece  and 
nephew  in  silence  to  the  house  of  Mr.  Zachary  Menaida. 
Jamie  had  escaped  over  the  hedge,  to  put  a  stone-and- 
earth  barrier  between  himself  and  his  assailant  directly 
Judith  interposed  between  him  and  Coppinger.  Now 
that  the  latter  was  gone,  he  came,  laughing,  over  the 
hedge  again.  To  him  what  had  occurred  was  fun. 

At  Menaida's  the  aunt  departed,  leaving  her  nephew 


40  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

and  niece  with  the  old  man,  that  she  might  hurry  to 
Pentyre  Glaze  and  provide  what  was  needed  for  Coppiii- 
ger.  She  took  no  leave  of  Judith.  In  the  haze  of  ap- 
prehension that  enveloped  her  mind  glowed  anger  against 
the  girl  for  having  increased  her  difficulties  and  jeopard- 
ized her  position  with  Coppinger. 

Mr.  Zachary  Menaida  was  an  old  man,  or  rather  a  man 
who  had  passed  middle  age,  with  grizzled  hair  that 
stood  up  above  his  brow,  projecting  like  the  beak  of  a 
ship  or  the  horn  of  an  unicorn.  He  had  a  big  nose  in- 
clined to  redness,  and  kindly,  watery  eyes,  was  close 
shaven,  and  had  lips  that,  whenever  he  was  in  per- 
plexity, or  worried  with  work  or  thought,  he  thrust  for- 
ward and  curled.  He  was  a  middle-statured  man,  inclined 
to  stoop. 

Uncle  Zachie,  as  he  was  commonly  called  behind  his 
back,  was  a  gentleman  by  birth.  In  the  Roman  Catholic 
Church  there  is  a  religious  order  called  that  of  Minims. 
In  England  we  have,  perhaps,  the  most  widely-diffused 
of  orders,  not  confined  to  religion — it  is  that  of  Crotchets. 
To  this  order  Mr.  Menaida  certainly  belonged.  He  Avas 
made  up  of  hobbies  and  prejudices  that  might  bore,  but 
never  hurt  others. 

Probably  the  most  difficult  achievement  one  can  con- 
ceive for  a  man  to  execute  is  to  stand  in  his  own  light ; 
yet  Mr.  Menaida  had  succeeded  in  doing  this  all  through 
his  life.  In  the  first  place,  he  had  been  bred  up  for  the 
law,  but  had  never  applied  himself  to  the  duties  of  the 
profession  to  which  he  had  been  articled.  As  he  had 
manifested  as  a  boy  a  love  of  music,  his  mother  and  sis- 
ter had  endeavored  to  make  him  learn  to  play  on  an  in- 
strument; but,  because  so  urged,  he  had  refused  to 
qualify  himself  to  play  on  pianoforte,  violin,  or  fiute, 
till  his  fingers  had  stiffened,  whereupon  he  set  to  work 
zealously  to  practise,  when  it  was  110  longer  possible  for 
him  to  acquire  even  tolerable  proficiency. 

As  he  had  been  set  by  his  father  to  work  on  skins  of 
parchment,  he  turned  his  mind  to  skins  of  another  sort, 
and  became  an  eager  naturalist  and  taxidermist. 

That  he  had  genius,  or  rather  a  few  scattered  sparks 
of  talent  in  his  muddled  brain,  was  certain.  Every  one 
who  knew  him  said  he  was  clever,  but  pitied  his  inability 
to  turn  his  cleverness  to  purpose.  But  one  must  take 
into  consideration,  before  accepting  the  general  verdict 


IN  THIS  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  41 

that  he  was  clever,  the  intellectual  abilities  of  those  who 
formed  this  judgment.  When  we  do  this,  we  doubt  much 
whether  their  opinion  is  worth  much.  Mr.  Menaida  was 
not  clever.  He  had  flashes  of  wit,  no  steady  light  of 
understanding1.  Above  all,  he  had  no  application,  a  little 
of  which  might  have  made  him  a  useful  member  of  so- 
ciety. 

When  his  articleship  was  over  he  set  up  as  a  solicitor, 
but  what  business  was  offered  him  he  neglected  or  mis- 
managed, till  business  ceased  to  be  offered.  He  would 
have  starved  had  not  a  small  annuity  of  fifty  pounds 
been  left  him  to  keep  the  wolf  from  the  door,  and  that 
he  was  able  to  supplement  this  small  income  with  money 
made  by  the  sale  of  his  stuffed  specimens  of  sea-fowl. 
Taxidermy  was  the  only  art  in  which  he  was  able  to  do 
anything  profitable.  He  loved  to  observe  the  birds,  to 
wander  on  the  cliffs  listening  to  their  cries,  watching 
their  fiight,  their  positions  when  at  rest,  the  undula- 
tions in  their  feathers  under  the  movement  of  the  mus- 
cles as  they  turned  their  heads  or  raised  their  feet ;  and 
when  he  set  himself  to  stuff  the  skins  he  was  able  to  imi- 
tate the  postures  and  appearance  of  living  birds  with  rare 
fidelity.  Consequently  his  specimens  were  in  request, 
and  ornithologists  and  country  gentlemen  whose  game- 
keepers had  shot  rare  birds  desired  to  have  the  skins 
dealt  with,  and  set  in  cases,  by  the  dexterous  fingers  of 
Mr.  Zachary  Menaida.  He  might  have  done  more  work 
of  the  same  kind,  but  that  his  ingrained  inactivity  and 
distaste  for  work  limited  his  output.  In  certain  cases 
Mr.  Menaida  would  not  do  what  was  desired  of  him  till 
coaxed  and  flattered,  and  then  he  did  it  grumblingly  and 
with  sighs  at  being  subjected  to  killing  toil. 

Mr.  Menaida  was  a  widower ;  his  married  life  had  not 
been  long ;  he  had  been  left  with  a  son,  now  grown  to 
manhood,  who  was  no  longer  at  home.  He  was  abroad, 
in  Portugal,  in  the  service  of  a  Bristol  merchant,  an  im- 
porter of  wines. 

As  already  said,  Uncle  Zachie  did  not  begin  the  drudg- 
ery of  music  till  it  was  too  late  for  him  to  acquire  skill 
on  any  instrument.  His  passion  for  music  grew  with 
his  inability  to  give  himself  pleasure  from  it.  He  oc- 
cupied a  double  cottage  at  Polzeath,  and  a  hole  knocked 
through  the  wall  that  had  separated  the  lower  rooms 
enabled  him  to  keep  his  piano  in  one  room  and  his  bird- 


42  IN  TEE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

stuffing  apparatus  in  the  other,  and  to  run  from  one  to 
the  other  in  his  favorite  desultory  way,  that  never  per- 
mitted him  to  stick  to  one  thing-  at  a  time. 

Into  this  house  Judith  and  her  brother  were  intro- 
duced. Mr.  Menaida  had  been  attached  to  the  late  rec- 
tor, the  only  other  g-entleman  in  culture,  as  in  birth,  that 
lived  in  the  place,  and  when  he  was  told,  by  Miss — or,  as 
she  was  usually  called,  Mrs. — Trevisa  that  the  children 
must  leave  the  parsonage  and  be  put  temporarily  with 
some  one  suitable,  and  that  no  other  suitable  house  was 
available,  he  consented  without  making-  much  objection 
to  receive  them  into  his  cottage.  He  was  a  kindly  man, 
gentle  at  heart,  and  he  was  touched  at  the  bereavement 
of  the  children  whom  he  had  known  since  they  were  in- 
fants. 

After  the  first  salutation  Mr.  Menaida  led  Judith  and 
the  boy  into  his  parlor,  the  room  opening-  out  of  his 
workshop. 

"  Look  here,"  said  he,  "  what  is  that  ?  "  He  pointed  to 
his  piano. 

"A  piano,  sir,"  answered  Judith. 

"Yes— and  mind  you,  I  hate  strumming-,  though  I 
love  music.  When  I  am  in,  engag-ed  at  my  labors,  no 
strumming.  I  come  in  here  now  and  then  as  relaxation, 
and  run  over  this  and  that ;  then,  refreshed,  g-o  back  to 
my  work,  but,  if  there  is  any  strumming,  I  shall  be  put 
out.  I  shall  run  my  knife  or  needle  into  my  hand,  and  it 
will  upset  me  for  the  day.  You  understand — no  strum- 
ming. When  I  am  out,  then  you  may  touch  the  keys, 
but  only  when  I  am  out.  You  understand  clearly  ?  Say 
the  words  after  me :  '  I  allow  no  strumming-.' " 

Judith  did  as  required.  The  same  was  exacted  of 
Jamie.  Then  Mr.  Menaida  said — 

"  Very  well ;  now  we  shall  have  a  dish  of  tea.  I  dare- 
say you  are  tired.  Dear  me,  you  look  so.  Goodness 
bless  me  !  indeed  you  do.  What  has  tired  you  has  been 
the  trial  you  have  gone  through.  Poor  things,  poor 
things !  There,  g-o  to  your  rooms ;  my  maid,  Jump,  will 
show  you  where  they  are,  and  I  will  see  about  making-  tea. 
It  will  do  you  good.  You  want  it.  I  see  it." 

The  kind-hearted  man  ran  about. 

:  Bless  my  soul !  where  have  I  put  the  key  of  the 
caddy  ?  And — really — my  fingers  are  all  over  arsenical 
soap.  I  think  I  will  leave  Jump  to  make  the  tea.  Jump, 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  43 

have  you  seen  where  I  put  the  key  ?  Bless  my  soul ! 
where  did  I  have  it  last  1  Never  mind ;  I  will  break 
open  the  caddy." 

"  Please,  Mr.  Menaida,  do  not  do  that  for  us.  We  can 
very  well  wait  till  the  key  is  found." 

"  Oh !  I  don't  know  when  that  will  be.  I  shall  have 
forgotten  about  it  if  I  do  not  find  the  key  at  once,  or 
break  open  the  caddy.  But,  if  you  prefer  it,  I  have 
some  cherry-brandy,  or  I  would  give  you  some  milk- 
punch." 

:'  No — no,  indeed,  Mr.  Menaida." 

"  But  Jamie — I  am  sure  he  looks  tired.  A  little  cherry- 
brandy  to  draw  the  threads  in  him  tog-ether.  And  suffer 
me,  though  not  a  doctor,  to  recommend  it  to  you.  Bless 
my  soul !  my  fingers  are  all  over  arsenical  soap.  If  I 
don't  have  some  cherry -brandy  myself  I  shall  have  the 
arsenic  get  into  my  system.  I  hope  you  have  no  cuts  or 
scratches  on  your  hand.  I  forgot  the  arsenic  when  I 
shook  hands  with  you.  Now,  look  here,  Jump,  bring  in 
the  saffron  cake,  and  I  will  cut  them  each  a  good  hunch. 
It  will  do  you  good,  on  my  word  it  will.  I  have  not 
spared  either  figs  or  saffron,  and  then — I  will  help  you, 
as  I  love  you.  Come  and  see  my  birds.  That  is  a  cor- 
morant— a  splendid  fellow — looks  as  if  run  out  of  metal, 
all  his  plumage,  you  know,  and  in  the  attitude  as  if  swal- 
lowing a  fish.  Do  you  see  1 — the  morsel  is  going  down 
his  throat.  And — how  much  luggage  have  you  !  Jump  ! 
show  the  young  lady  where  she  can  put  away  her  gowns 
and.  all  that  sort  of  thing.  Oh,  not  come  yet  ?  All  right 
— a  lady  and  her  dresses  are  not  long  parted.  They  will 
be  here  soon.  Now,  then.  What  will  you  have  ? — some 
cold  beef — and  cider  1  Upon  my  soul ! — you  must  ex- 
cuse me.  I  was  just  wiring  that  kittiwake.  Excuse 
me — I  shall  be  ready  in  a  moment.  In  the  meantime 
there  are  books  —  Eollin's  'Ancient  History,'  a  very 
reliable  book.  No — upon  my  word,  my  mind  is  dis- 
tracted. I  cannot  get  that  kittiwake  right  without  a 
glass  of  port.  I  have  some  good  port.  Oliver  guaran- 
tees it — from  Portugal,  you  know.  He  is  there — first- 
rate  business,  and  will  make  his  fortune,  which  is  more 
than  his  father  ever  did." 

Mr.  Menaida  went  to  a  closet,  and  produced  a  bottle. 

"  Come  here,  Jamie.     I  know  what  is  good  for  you." 

"  No — please,   Mr.   Menaida,   do    not.      He    has   not 


44  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

been  accustomed  to  anything-  of  the  sort.  Please  not, 
sir." 

"  Fudge  !  "  said  Uncle  Zachie,  holding-  up  a  glass  and 
pouring-  cherry -brandy  into  it.  "  What  is  your  age  !— 
seventeen  or  eig-hteen,  and  I  am  fifty -two.  I  have  over 
thirty  years'  more  experience  of  the  world  than  you. 
Jamie,  don't  be  tied  to  your  sister's  apron-string-.  I 
know  what  is  best  for  you.  Girls  drink  water,  men 
something-  better.  Come  here,  Jamie  !  " 

'  No,  sir — I  beseech  you." 

"  Bless  my  soul !  I  know  what  is  g-ood  for  him. 
Come  to  me,  Jamie.  Look  the  other  way,  Judith,  if  I 
cannot  persuade  you." 

Judith  sighed,  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 
There  was  to  be  no  help,  no  support  in  Uncle  Zachie. 
On  the  contrary,  he  would  break  down  her  power  over 
Jamie. 

"Jamie,"  she  said,  "if  you  love  me,  go  up-stairs." 

"  Presently,  Ju.  I  want  that  first."  And  he  took  it, 
ran  to  his  sister,  and  said : 

"  It  is  good,  Ju  ! " 

te  You  have  disobeyed  me,  Jamie — that  is  bad." 

She  stood  on  the  threshold  of  further  trouble,  and  she 
knew  it. 


CHAPTEK  VIL 

A  VISIT. 

.No  sleep  visited  Judith's  eyes  that  night  till  the  first 
streaks  of  dawn  appeared,  though  she  was  weary,  and 
her  frail  body  and  over-exerted  brain  needed  the  refresh- 
ment of  sleep.  But  sleep  she  could  not,  for  cares  were 
gathering  upon  her. 

She  had  often  heard  her  father,  when  speaking  of  Mr. 
Menaida,  lament  that  he  was  not  a  little  more  self -con- 
trolled in  his  drinking.  It  >  was  not  that  the  old  fellow 
ever  became  inebriated,  but  that  he  hankered  after  the 
bottle,  and  was  wont  to  take  a  nip  continually  to  strength- 
en his  nerves,  steady  his  hand,  or  clear  his  brain. 
There  was  ever  ready  some  excuse  satisfactory  to  his 
own  conscience ;  and  it  was  due  to  these  incessant  ap- 
plications to  the  bottle  that  his  hand  shook,  his  eyes  be- 
came watery,  and  his  nose  red.  It  was  a  danger  Judith 
must  guard  against,  lest  this  trick  should  be  picked  up 
by  the  childish  Jamie,  always  apt  to  imitate  what  he 
should  not,  and  acquire  habits  easily  gained,  hardly 
broken,  that  were  harmful  to  himself.  Uncle  Zachie,  in 
his  good-nature,  would  lead  the  boy  after  him  into  the 
same  habits  that  marred  his  own  life. 

This  was  one  thought  that  worked  like  a  mole  all 
night  in  Judith's  brain  ;  but  she  had  other  troubles  as 
well  to  keep  her  awake.  She  was  alarmed  at  the  conse- 
quences of  her  conduct  in  the  lane.  She  wondered 
whether  Coppinger  were  more  seriously  hurt  than  had 
at  first  appeared.  She  asked  herself  whether  she  had 
not  acted  wrongly  when  she  acted  inconsiderately, 
whether  in  her  precipitation  to  protect  herself  she  had 
not  misjudged  Coppinger,  whether,  if  he  had  attempted 
to  strike  her,  it  would  not  have  been  a  lesser  evil  to  re- 
ceive the  blow,  than  to  ward  it  off  in  such  a  manner  as 
to  break  his  bones.  Knowing  by  report  the  character 
of  the  man,  she  feared  that  she  had  incurred  his  deadly 


46  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

animosity.  He  could  not,  that  she  could  see,  hurt  her- 
self in  the  execution  of  his  resentment,  but  he  might 
turn  her  aunt  out  of  his  house.  That  she  had  affronted 
her  aunt  she  was  aware  ;  Mrs.  Trevisa's  manner  in  part- 
ing with  her  had  shown  that  with  sufficient  plainness. 

A  strange  jumble  of  sounds  on  the  piano  startled  Ju- 
dith. Her  first  thought  and  fear  were  that  her  brother 
had  gone  to  the  instrument,  and  was  amusing  himself 
on  the  keys.  But  on  listening  attentively  she  was 
aware  that  there  was  sufficient  sequence  in  the  notes  to 
make  it  certain  that  the  performer  was  a  musician, 
though  lacking  in  facility  of  execution.  She  descended 
the  stairs  and  entered  the  little  sitting-room.  Uncle 
Zachie  was  seated  on  the  music-stool,  and  was  endeavor- 
ing to  play  a  sonata  of  Beethoven  that  was  vastly  be- 
yond the  capacity  of  his  stiff- jointed  fingers.  Whenever 
he  made  a  false  note  he  uttered  a  little  grunt  and 
screwed  up  his  eyes,  endeavored  to  play  the  bar  again, 
and  perhaps  accomplish  it  only  to  break  down  in  the 
next. 

Judith  did  not  venture  to  interrupt  him.  She  took  up 
some  knitting,  and  seated  herself  near  the  piano,  where 
he  might  see  her  without  her  disturbing  him.  He 
raised  his  brows,  grunted,  floundered  into  false  harmony, 
and  exclaimed,  "  Bless  me !  how  badly  they  do  print  mu- 
sic nowadays.  Who,  without  the  miraculous  powers  of 
a  prophet,  could  tell  that  B  should  be  natural  I "  Then, 
turning  his  head  over  his  shoulder,  addressed  Judith, 
"  Good-morning,  missie.  Are  you  fond  of  music  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  very." 

"  So  you  think.  Everyone  says  he  or  she  is  fond  of 
music,  because  that  person  can  hammer  out  a  psalm 
tune  or  play  the  '  Kogue's  March.'  I  hate  to  hear  those 
who  call  themselves  musical  strum  on  a  piano.  They 
can't  feel,  they  only  execute." 

"  But  they  can  play  their  notes  correctly,"  said  Judith, 
and  then  flushed  with  vexation  at  having  made  this 
pointed  and  cutting  remark.  But  it  did  not  cause  Mr. 
Menaida  to  wince. 

"  What  of  that  ?  I  give  not  a  thank-you  for  mere 
literal  music-reading.  Call  Jump,  set  '  Shakespeare ' 
before  her,  and  she  will  hammer  out  a  scene — correctly 
as  to  words ;  but  where  is  the  sense  ?  Where  the  life  ? 
You  must  play  with  the  spirit  and  play  with  the  under- 


I2V   THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  47 

standing  also,  as  you  must  read  with  the  spirit  and  read 
with  the  understanding-  also.  It  is  the  same  thing  with 
bird-stuffing-.  Any  fool  can  ram  tow  into  a  skin  and 
thrust  wires  into  the  neck,  but  what  is  the  result  ? 
You  must  stuff  birds  with  the  spirit  and  stuff  with  the 
understanding-  also — or  it  is  naught." 

"  I  suppose  it  is  the  same  with  everything-  one  does- 
one  must  do  it  heartily  and  intelligently." 

"  Exactly !  Now  you  should  see  my  boy,  Oliver. 
Have  you  ever  met  him  ? " 

"  I  think  I  have ;  but,  to  be  truthful,  I  do  not  recol- 
lect him,  sir." 

"  I  will  bring  you  his  likeness — in  miniature.  It  is 
in  the  next  room."  Up  jumped  Mr.  Menaida,  and  ran 
through  the  opening-  in  the  wall,  and  returned  in  another 
moment  with  the  portrait,  and  gave  it  into  Judith's 
hands. 

"  A  fine  fellow  is  Oliver !  Look  at  his  nose  how 
straig-ht  it  is.  Not  like  mine — that  is  a  pump-handle. 
He  g-ot  his  good  looks  from  his  mother,  not  from  me. 
Ah!"  He  reseated  himself  at  the  piano,  and  ran— in- 
correctly— over  a  scale.  "  It  is  all  the  pleasure  I  have 
in  life,  to  think  of  my  boy,  and  to  look  at  his  picture, 
and  read  his  letters,  and  drink  the  port  he  sends  me — 
first-rate  stuff.  He  writes  admirable  letters,  and  never 
a  month  passes  but  I  receive  one.  It  would  come  ex- 
pensive if  he  wrote  direct,  so  his  letter  is  enclosed  in  the 
business  papers  sent  to  the  house  at  Bristol,  and  they 
forward  it  to  me.  You  shall  read  his  last — out  loud.  It 
will  give  me  a  pleasure  to  hear  it  read  by  you." 

"If  I  read  properly,  Mr.  Menaida— with  the  spirit  and 
with  the  understanding." 

"  Exactly  !  But  you  could  not  fail  to  do  that  looking 
at  the  cheerful  face  in  the  miniature,  and  reading  his 
words — pleasant  and  bright  as  himself.  Pity  you  have 
not  seen  him  ;  well,  that  makes  something  to  live  for. 
He  has  dark  hair  and  blue  eyes — not  often  met  together, 
and  when  associated,  very  refreshing.  Wait !  I'll  go 
after  the  letter :  only,  bless  my  soul !  where  is  it  ? 
What  coat  did  I  have  on  when  I  read  it  ?  I'll  call  Jump. 
She  may  remember.  Wait !  do  you  recall  this  1  " 

He  stumbled  over  something  on  the  keys  which  might 
have  been  anything. 

"It  is  Haydn.    I  will  tell  you  what  I  think :  Mozart  I 


48  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

delight  in  as  a  companion  ;  Beethoven  I  revere  as  a  mas- 
ter ;  but  Haydn  I  love  as  a  friend.  You  were  about  to 
say  something1 1 " 

Judith  had  set  an  elbow  on  the  piano  and  put  her 
hand  to  her  head,  her  fingers  through  the  hair,  and  was 
looking  into  Uncle  Zachie's  face  with  an  earnestness  he 
could  not  mistake.  She  did  desire  to  say  something 
to  him ;  but  if  she  waited  till  he  gave  her  an  opportu- 
nity she  might  wait  a  long  time.  He  jumped  from  one 
subject  to  another  with  alacrity,  and  with  rapid  forget- 
fulness  of  what  he  was  last  speaking  about. 

"  Oh,  sir,  I  am  so  very,  very  grateful  to  you  for  having 
received  us  into  your  snug  little  house — 

'''  You  like  it  ?  Well,  I  only  pay  seven  pounds  for  it. 
Cheap,  is  it  not?  Two  cottages — laborers'  cottages — 
thrown  together.  Well,  I  might  go  farther  and  fare 
worse." 

"  And,  Mr.  Menaida,  I  venture  to  ask  you  another  fa- 
vor, which,  if  you  will  grant  me,  you  will  lay  me  under 
an  eternal  obligation." 

"  You  may  command  me,  my  dear." 

"  It  is  only  this :  not  to  let  Jamie  have  anything 
stronger  than  a  glass  of  cider.  I  do  not  mind  his  hav- 
ing that ;  but  a  boy  like  him  does  not  need  what  is,  no 
doubt,  wanted  by  you  who  are  getting  old.  I  am  so 
afraid  of  the  habit  growing  on  him  of  looking  for  and 
liking  what  is  too  strong  for  him.  He  is  such  a  child, 
so  easily  led,  and  so  unable  to  control  himself.  It  may 
be  a  fancy,  a  prejudice  of  mine  " — she  passed  her  nervous 
hand  over  her  face — "  I  do  hope  I  am  not  offending  you, 
dear  Mr.  Menaida ;  but  I  know  Jamie  so  well,  and  I  know 
how  carefully  he  must  be  watched  and  checked.  If  it 
be  a  silly  fancy  of  mine — and  perhaps  it  is  only  a  silly 
fancy — yet,"  she  put  on  a  pleading  tone,  "  you  will  humor 
me  in  this,  will  you  not,  Mr.  Menaida  ?  " 

"Bless  my  soul !  you  have  only  to  express  a  wish  and 
I  will  fulfil  it.  For  myself,  you  must  know,  I  am  a  little 
weak ;  I  feel  a  chill  when  the  wind  turns  north  or  east, 
and  am  always  relaxed  when  it  is  in  the  south  or  west ; 
that  forces  me  to  take  something  just  to  save  me  from 
serious  inconvenience,  you  understand." 

"  Oh  quite,  sir." 

"And  then — confound  it! — I  am  goaded  on  to  work 
when  disinclined.  Why,  there's  a  letter  come  to  me  now 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  49 

from  Plymouth — a  naturalist  there,  asking-  for  more 
birds ;  and  what  can  I  do  ?  I  slave,  I  am  at  it  all  day, 
half  the  night ;  I  have  no  time  to  eat  or  sleep.  I  was 
not  born  to  stuff  birds.  I  take  it  as  an  amusement,  a 
pastime,  and  it  is  converted  into  a  toil.  I  must  brace 
up  my  exhausted  frame ;  it  is  necessary  to  my  health, 
you  understand  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes,  Mr.  Menaida.  And  you  really  will  humor 
my  childish  whim  ? " 

"  Certainly,  you  may  rely  on  me." 

"  That  is  one  thing  I  wanted  to  say.  Yon  see,  sir,  we 
have  but  just  come  into  your  house,  and  already,  last 
night,  Jamie  was  tempted  to  disobey  me,  and  take  what 
I  thought  unadvisable,  so — I  have  been  turning1  it  over 
and  over  in  my  head — I  thought  I  would  like  to  come  to 
a  clear  understanding-  with  you,  Mr.  Menaida.  It  seems 
ungracious  in  me,  but  you  must  pity  me.  I  have  now 
all  responsibility  for  Jamie  on  my  head,  and  I  have  to 
do  what  my  conscience  tells  me  I  should  do ;  only,  I  pray 
you,  do  not  take  offence  at  what  I  have  said." 

"  Fudge !  my  dear ;  you  are  right,  I  dare  say." 

"  And  now  that  I  have  your  promise — I  have  that,  have 
I  not  « " 

"Yes,  certainly." 

"  Now  I  want  your  opinion,  if  you  will  kindly  give  it 
me.  I  have  no  father,  no  mother,  to  go  to  for  advice ; 
and  so  I  venture  to  appeal  to  you — it  is  about  Captain 
Coppinger." 

"  Captain  Coppinger  !  "  repeated  Uncle  Zachie,  screw- 
ing up  his  brows  and  mouth.  "  Umph !  He  is  a  bold 
man  who  can  give  help  against  Captain  Coppinger,  arid 
a  strong  man  as  well  as  bold.  How  has  he  wronged 
you  ?  " 

"  Oh !  he  has  not  wronged  me.  It  is  I  who  have  hurt 
him." 

"  You — you?  "  Uncle  Zachie  laughed.  "  A  little  creat- 
ure such  as  you  could  not  hurt  Captain  Cruel !  " 

"  But,  indeed,  I  have ;  I  have  thrown  him  down  and 
broken  his  arms  and  some  of  his  bones." 

"  You  ! "  Uncle  Zachie's  face  of  astonishment  and  dis- 
may was  so  comical  that  Judith,  in  spite  of  her  anxiety 
and  exhaustion,  smiled;  but  the  smile  was  without 
brightness. 

"  And  pray,  how  in  the  name  of  wonder  did  you  do 


50  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

that  1  Upon  my  word,  you  w1"!!  deserve  the  thanks  of 
the  Preventive  men.  They  have  no  love  for  him;  they 
have  old  scores  they  would  gladly  wipe  off  with  a  broken 
arm,  or,  better  still,  a  cracked  skull.  And  pray  how  did 
you  do  this  ?  With  the  flour-  -oiler  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  I  will  tell  you  the  whole  story." 

Then,  in  its  true  sequence,  with  great  clearness,  she 
related  the  entire  narrative  of  events.  She  told  how  her 
father,  even  with  his  last  breath,  had  spoken  of  Coppin- 
ger  as  the  man  who  had  troubled  his  life  by  marring  his 
work ;  how  that  the  Captain  had  entered  the  parsonage 
without  ceremony  when  her  dear  father  was  lying  dead 
up -stairs,  and  how  he  had  called  there  boisterously  for 
Aunt  Dionysia  because  he  wanted  something  of  her. 
She  told  the  old  man  how  that  her  own  feelings  had  been 
wrought,  by  this  affront,  into  anger  against  Coppinger. 
Then  she  related  the  incident  in  the  lane,  and  how  that, 
when  he  raised  his  arm  against  her,  she  had  dashed  the 
buttons  into  his  face,  frightened  his  horse,  and  so  pro- 
duced an  accident  that  might  have  cost  the  Captain  his 
life. 

"  Bless  my  soul !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Menaida,  "  and  what 
do  you  want  ?  Is  it  an  assault  1  I  will  run  to  my  law- 
books  and  find  out ;  I  don't  know  that  it  can  quite  be 
made  out  a  case  of  misadventure." 

"  It  is  not  that,  sir." 

"  Then  what  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  racking  my  head  to  think  what  I  ought 
to  do  under  the  circumstances.  There  can  be  no  doubt 
that  I  aggravated  him.  I  was  very  angry,  both  because 
he  had  been  a  trouble  to  my  darling  papa,  and  then  bo- 
cause  he  had  been  so  insolent  as  to  enter  our  house  and 
shout  for  Aunt  Dunes ;  but  there  was  something  more — 
he  had  tried  to  beat  Jamie,  and  it  was  my  father's  day 
of  burial.  All  that  roused  a  bad  spirit  in  me,  and  I  did 
say  very  bad  words  to  him — words  a  man  of  metal  would 
not  bear  from  even  a  child,  and  I  suppose  I  really  did 
lash  him  to  madness,  and  he  would  have  struck  me — but 
perhaps  not,  he  might  have  thought  better  of  it.  I  pro- 
voked him,  and  then  I  brought  about  what  happened. 
I  have  been  considering  what  I  ought  to  do.  If  I  remain 
here  and  take  no  notice,  then  he  will  think  me  very  un- 
feeling, and  that  I  do  not  care  that  I  have  hurt  him  in 
mind  and  body.  It  came  into  my  head  last  night  that 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  51 

I  would  ask  aunt  to  apologize  to  him  for  what  I  had 
done,  or,  better  still,  should  aunt  not  come  here  to-day, 
which  is  very  likely,  that  I  might  walk  with  Jamie  to 
Pentyre  and  inquire  how  Captain  Coppinger  is,  and  send 
in  word  by  my  aunt  that  I  am  sorry — very  sorry." 

"  Upon  my  soul,  I  don't  know  what  to  say.  I  could 
not  have  done  this  to  Coppinger  myself  for  a  good  deal 
of  money.  I  think  if  I  had,  I  would  get  out  of  the  place 
as  quickly  as  possible,  while  he  was  crippled  by  his 
broken  bones.  But  then,  you  are  a  girl,  and  he  may 
take  it  better  from  you  than  from  me.  Well — yes ;  I 
think  it  would  be  advisable  to  allay  his  anger  if  you  can. 
Upon  my  word,  you  have  put  yourself  into  a  difficult 
position.  I'll  go  and  look  at  my  law-books,  just  for  my 
own  satisfaction." 

A  heavy  blow  on  the  door,  and^  without  waiting  for  a 
response  and  invitation  to  enter,  it  was  thrown  open, 
and  there  entered  Cruel  Coppinger,  his  arm  bandaged, 
tied  in  splints,  and  bound  to  his  body,  with  his  heavy 
walking-stick  brandished  by  the  uninjured  hand.  He 
stood  for  a  moment  glowering  in,  searching  the  room 
with  his  keen  eyes  till  they  rested  on  Judith.  Then  he 
made  an  attempt  to  raise  his  hand  to  his  head,  but 
ineffectually. 

"  Curse  it ! "  said  he,  "  I  cannot  do  it ;  don't  tear  it 
off  my  head  with  your  eyes,  girl.  Here,  you  Menaida, 
come  here  and  take  my  hat  off.  Come  instantly,  or 
she — she  will  do — the  devil  knows  what  she  will  not  do 
to  me." 

He  turned,  and  with  his  stick  beat  the  door  back, 
that  it  slammed  behind  him. 


CHAPTEE  VHI.      * 

A    PATCHED    PEACE. 

"  Look  at  her !  "  cried  Coppinger,  with  his  back  against 
the  house  door,  and  pointing  to  Judith  with  his  stick. 

She  was  standing  near  the  piano,  with  one  hand  on 
it,  and  was  half  turned  toward  him.  She  was  in  black, 
but  had  a  white  kerchief  about  her  neck.  The  absence 
of  all  color  in  her  dress  heightened  the  lustre  of  her 
abundant  and  glowing  hair. 

Copx>inger  remained  for  a  moment,  pointing  with  a 
half  sneer  on  his  dark  face.  Mr.  Menaida  had  nervously 
complied  with  his  demand,  and  had  removed  the  hat 
from  the  smuggler,  and  his  dark  hair  fell  about  his  face. 
That  face  was  livid  and  pale  ;  he  had  evidently  suffered 
much,  and  now  every  movement  was  attended  with  pain, 
Not  only  had  some  of  his  bones  been  broken,  but  he  was 
bruised  and  strained. 

"  Look  at  her ! "  he  shouted  again,  in  his  deep  com- 
manding tones,  and  he  fixed  his  fierce  eyes  on  her  and 
knitted  his  brows.  She  remained  immovable,  awaiting 
what  he  had  to  say.  Though  there  was  a  flutter  in  her 
bosom,  her  hand  on  the  piano  did  not  shake. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  Captain  Coppinger,"  said  Judith,  in 
a  low,  sweet  voice,  in  which  there  was  but  a  slight  trem- 
ulousness.  "  I  profess  that  I  believe  I  acted  wrongly 
yesterday,  and  I  repeat  that  I  am  sorry — very  sorry,  Cap- 
tain Coppinger." 

He  made  no  reply.  He  lowered  the  stick  that  had 
been  pointed  at  her,  and  leaned  on  it.  His  hand  shook 
because  he  was  in  pain. 

"  I  acted  wrongly  yesterday,"  continued  Judith,  "  but 
I  acted  under  provocation  that,  if  it  does  not  justify 
what  I  did,  palliates  the  wrong.  I  can  say  no  more — 
that  is  the  exact  truth." 

"  Is  that  all  ? " 

"I  am  sorry  for  what  was  wrong  in  my  conduct — 
frankly  sorry  that  you  are  hurt." 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  53 

"  You  hear  her  ?  "  laughed  Coppinger,  bitterly.  "  A 
little  chit  like  that  to  speak  to  me  thus  " — then,  turning 
sharply  on  her,  "  Are  you  not  afraid  ?  " 

"  No,  I  am  not  afraid  ;  why  should  I  be  ?  " 

"  Why  ?  Ask  any  one  in  S.  Enodoc— any  one  in  Corn- 
wall— who  has  heard  my  name." 

"  I  beg-  your  pardon.  I  do  not  want  to  ask  any  one 
else  in  S.  Enodoc,  any  one  else  in  Cornwall.  I  ask  you." 

"  Me  1  You  ask  me  why  you  should  be  afraid  of  me '? " 
He  paused,  drew  his  thick  brows  tog-ether  till  they 
formed  a  band  across  his  forehead.  "  I  tell  you  that  none 
has  ever  wronged  me  by  a  blade  of  grass  or  a  nock  of 
wool  but  has  paid  for  it  a  thousand-fold.  And  none  has 
ever  hurt  me  as  you  have  done — none  ha^s  ever  dared  to 
attempt  it." 

"  I  have  said  that  I  am  sorry." 

"  You  talk  like  one  cold  as  a  mermaid.  I  do  not  be- 
lieve in  your  fearlessness.  Why  do  you  lean  on  the 
piano.  There,  touch  the  wires  with  the  very  tips  of  your 
lingers,  and  let  me  hear  if  they  give  a  sound — and  sound 
they  will  if  you  tremble." 

Judith  exposed  some  of  the  wires  by  raising  the  top 
of  the  piano.  Then  she  smiled,  and  stood  with  the  tips 
of  her  delicate  fingers  just  touching  the  chords.  Coppiii- 
ger  listened,  so  did  Uncle  Zachie,  and  not  a  vibration 
could  they  detect. 

Presently  she  withdrew  her  hand,  and  said,  "Is  not 
that  enough  ?  When  a  girl  says,  '  I  am  sorry,'  I  sup- 
posed the  chapter  was  done  and  the  book  closed." 

"You  have  strange  ideas." 

"  I  have  those  in  which  I  was  brought  up  by  the  best 
of  fathers." 

Coppinger  thrust  his  stick  along  the  floor. 

"  Is  it  due  to  the  ideas  in  which  you  have  been  brought 
up  that  you  are  not  afraid — when  you  have  reduced  me 
to  a  wreck  ?  " 

"  And  you  ? — are  you  afraid  of  the  wreck  that  you  have 
made  ?  " 

The  dark  blood  sprang  into  and  suffused  his  whole 
face.  Uncle  Zachie  drew  back  against  the  wall  and  made 
signs  to  Judith  not  to  provoke  their  self-invited  visitor; 
but  she  was  looking  steadily  at  the  Captain,  and  did  not 
observe  the  signals.  In  Coppinger's  presence  she  felt 
nerved  to  stand  on  the  defensive,  and  more,  to  attack.  A 


54  J^  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

threat  in  his  whole  bearing-,  in  his  manner  of  addressing 
her,  roused  every  energy  she  possessed. 

"  I  tell  you,"  said  he,  harshly,  "  if  any  man  had  used  the 
word  you  threw  at  me  yesterday,  I  would  have  murdered 
him ;  I  would  have  split  his  skull  with  the  handle  of  my 
crop." 

"  You  raised  your  hand  to  do  it  to  me,"  said  Judith. 

"  No !  "  he  exclaimed,  violently.  "It  is  false ;  come 
here,  and  let  me  see  if  you  have  the  courage,  the  fearless- 
ness you  affect.  You  women  are  past-masters  of  dis- 
sembling-. Come  here  ;  kneel  before  me  and  let  me  raise 
my  stick  over  you.  See ;  there  is  lead  in  the  handle,  and 
with  one  blow  I  can  split  your  skull  and  dash  the  brains 
over  the  floor."  t 

Judith  remained  immovable. 

"  I  thought  it — you  are  afraid." 

She  shook  her  head. 

He  let  himself,  with  some  pain,  slowly  into  a  chair. 

"  You  are  afraid.  You  know  what  to  expect.  Ah  !  I 
could  fell  you  and  trample  on  you  and  break  your  bones, 
as  I  was  cast  down,  trampled  on,  and  broken  in  my  bones 
yesterday — by  you,  or  through  you.  Are  you  afraid  ? " 

She  took  a  step  toward  him.  Then  Uncle  Zachie 
waved  her  back,  in  great  alarm.  He  caught  Judith's  at- 
tention, and  she  answered  him,  "  I  am  not  afraid.  I  gave 
him  a  word  I  should  not  have  given  him  yesterday.  I 
will  show  him  that  I  retract  it  fully."  Then  she  stepped 
up  to  Coppinger  and  sank  on  her  knees  before  him.  He 
raised  his  whip,  with  the  loaded  handle,  brandishing  it 
over  her. 

"  Now  I  am  here,"  she  said,  "  I  again  ask  your  forgive- 
ness, but  I  protest  an  apology  is  due  to  me." 

He  threw  his  stick  away.  "  By  heaven,  it  is  !  "  Then 
in  an  altered  tone,  "  Take  it  so,  that  I  ask  your  forgive- 
ness. Get  up  ;  do  not  kneel  to  me.  I  could  not  have 
struck  you  down  had  I  willed,  my  arm  is  stiff.  Perhaps 
you  knew  it." 

He  rose  with  effort  to  his  feet  again.  Judith  drew 
back  to  her  former  position  by  the  piano,  two  hectic 
spots  of  flame  were  in  her  cheek,  and  her  eyes  were  pre- 
ternaturally  bright. 

Coppinger  looked  steadily  at  her  for  a  while,  then  he 
said,  "  Are  you  ill  I  You  look  as  if  you  were." 

"  I  have  had  much  to  go  through  of  late." 


/JV  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  55 

"  True."  ^ 

He  remained  looking1  at  her,  brooding  over  something 
in  his  mind.  She  perplexed  him  ;  he  wondered  at  her. 
He  could  not  comprehend  the  spirit  that  was  in  her,  that 
sustained  a  delicate  little  frame,  and  made  her  defy  him. 

His  eyes  wandered  round  the  room,  and  he  signed  to 
Uncle  Zachie  to  give  him  his  stick  again. 

"  What  is  that  "I "  said  he,  pointing  to  the  miniature  011 
the  stand  for  music,  where  Mr.  Menaida  had  put  it,  over 
a  sheet  of  the  music  he  had  been  playing,  or  attempting 
to  play. 

"  It  is  my  son,  Oliver,"  said  Uncle  Zachie. 

"  Why  is  it  there  ?  Has  she  been  looking  at  it  ?  Let 
me  see  it." 

Mr.  Menaida  hesitated,  but  presently  handed  it  to  the 
redoubted  Captain,  with  nervous  twitches  in  his  face. 
"  I  value  it  highly — my  only  child." 

Coppinger  looked  at  it,  with  a  curl  of  his  lips ;  then 
handed  it  back  to  Mr.  Menaida. 

"  Why  is  it  here  ?  " 

"  I  brought  it  here  to  show  it  her.  I  am  very  proud 
of  my  son,"  said  Uncle  Zachie. 

Coppinger  was  in  an  irritable  mood,  captious  about 
trifles.  Why  did  he  ask  questions  about  this  little 
picture  ?  Why  look  suspiciously  at  Judith  as  he  did  so 
—suspiciously  and  threateningly  ? 

"  Do  you  play  on  the  piano  ? "  asked  Coppinger. 
"  When  the  evil  spirit  was  on  Saul,  David  struck  the  harp 
and  sent  the  spirit  away.  Let  me  hear  how  you  can 
touch  the  notes.  It  may  do  me  good.  Heaven  knows  it 
is  not  often  I  have  the  leisure,  or  the  occasion,  or  am  in 
the  humor  for  music.  I  would  hear  what  you  can  do." 

Judith  looked  at  Uncle  Zachie. 

"  I  cannot  play,"  she  said ;  "  that  is  to  say,  I  can  play, 
but  not  now,  and  on  this  piano." 

But  Mr.  Menaida  interfered  and  urged  her  to  play. 
He  was  afraid  of  Coppinger. 

She  seated  herself  on  the  .music-stool  and  considered 
for  a  moment.  The  miniature  was  again  on  the  stand. 
Coppinger  put  out  his  stick  and  thrust  it  off,  and  it 
would  have  fallen  had  not  Judith  caught  it.  She  gave  it 
to  Mr.  Menaida,  who  hastily  carried  it  into  the  adjoining 
room,  where  the  sight  of  it  might  no  longer  irritate  the 
Captain. 


56  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

"  What  shall  I  play  ?— I  mean,  strum  1 "  asked  Judith, 
looking1  at  Uncle  Zachie.  "Beethoven?  No — Haydn. 
Here  are  his  '  Seasons/  I  can  play  '  Spring-.' " 

She  had  a  light,  but  firm  touch.  Her  father  had  been 
a  man  of  great  musical  taste,  and  he  had  instructed  her. 
But  she  had,  moreover,  the  musical  faculty  in  her,  and 
she  played  with  the  spirit  and  with  the  understanding 
also.  Wondrous  is  the  power  of  music,  passing'  that  of 
fabled  necromancy.  It  takes  a  man  up  out  of  his  most 
sordid  surroundings,  and  sets  him  in  heavenly  places. 
It  touches  fibres  of  the  inner  nature,  lost,  forgotten, 
ignored,  and  makes  them  thrill  with  a  new  life.  It 
seals  the  eyes  to  outward  sights,  and  unfurls  new  vis- 
tas full  of  transcendental  beauty ;  it  breathes  over  hot 
wounds  and  heals  them ;  it  calls  to  the  surface  springs 
of  pure  delight,  and  bids  them  gush  forth  in  an  arid 
desert. 

It  was  so  now,  as,  under  the  sympathetic  fingers  of. 
Judith,  Haydn's  song  of  the  "  Spring "  was  sung.  A 
May  world  arose  in  that  little  dingy  room ;  the  walls 
fell  back  and  disclosed  green  woods  thick  with  red  robin 
and  bursting  bluebells,  fields  golden  with  buttercups, 
hawthorns  clothed  in  flower,  from  which  sang  the  black- 
bird, thrush,  the  finch,  and  the  ouzel.  The  low  ceiling- 
rose  and  overarched  as  the  speed- well  blue  vault  of 
heaven,  the  close  atmosphere  was  dispelled  by  a  waft"  of 
crisp,  pure  air ;  shepherds  piped,  Boy  Bluet  blew  his 
horn,  and  milkmaids  rattled  their  pails  and  danced  a 
ballet  on  the  turf ;  and  over  all,  down  into  every  corner 
of  the  soul,  streamed  the  glorious,  golden  sun,  filling  the 
heart  with  gladness. 

Uncle  Zachie  had  been  standing  at  the  door  leading 
into  his  workshop,  hesitating  whether  to  remain,  with  a 
pish !  and  a  pshaw !  or  to  fly  away  beyond  hearing. 
But  he  was  arrested,  then  drawn  lightly,  irresistibly, 
step  by  step,  toward  the  piano,  and  he  noiselessly  sank 
upon  a  chair,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  Judith's  fingers  as 
they  danced  over  the  keys.  His  features  assumed  a 
more  refined  character  as  he  listened;  the  water  rose 
into  his  eyes,  his  lips  quivered,  and  when,  before  reach- 
ing the  end  of  the  piece,  Judith  faltered  and  stopped,  he 
laid  his  hand  on  her  wrist  and  said:  "My  dear — you 
play,  you  do  not  strum.  Play  when  you  will— never  can 
it  be  too  long,  too  much  for  me.  It  may  steady  my 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  57 

hand,  it  may  dispel  the  chill  and  the  damp  better  than 
—but  never  mind — never  mind." 

Why  had  Judith  failed  to  accomplish  the  piece? 
Whilst  engaged  on  the  notes  she  had  felt  that  the 
searching-,  beaming1  eyes  of  the  smuggler  were  on  her, 
fixed  with  fierce  intensity.  She  could  meet  them,  look- 
ing straight  at  him,  without  shrinking,  and  without  con- 
fusion, but  to  be  searched  by  them  whilst  off  her  guard, 
her  attention  engaged  on  her  music,  was  what  she  could 
not  endure. 

Coppinger  made  no  remark  on  what  he  had  heard,  but 
his  face  gave  token  that  the  music  had  not  swept  across 
him  without  stirring  and  softening  his  hard  nature. 

"  How  long  is  she  to  be  here — with  you  ?  "  he  asked, 
turning  to  Uncle  Zachie. 

"  Captain,  I  cannot  tell.  She  and  her  brother  had  to 
leave  the  rectory.  They  could  not  remain  in  that  house 
alone.  Mrs.  Trevisa  asked  me  to  lodge  them  here,  and 
I  consented.  I  knew  their  father." 

"  She  did  not  ask  me.     I  would  have  taken  them  in." 

"  Perhaps  she  was  diffident  of  doing  that,"  said  Uncle 
Zachie.  "  But  really,  on  my  word,  it  is  no  inconvenience 
to  me.  I  have  room  in  this  house,  and  my  maid,  Jump, 
has  not  enough  to  do  to  attend  on  me." 

"  When  you  are  tired  of  them  send  them  to  me." 

"  I  am  not  likely  to  be  tired  of  Judith,  now  that  I  have 
heard  her  play." 

"  Judith — is  that  her  name  ?  " 

"  Yes— Judith." 

"  Judith  !  "  he  repeated,  and  thrust  his  stick  along  the 
floor,  meditatively.  "  Judith !  "  Then,  after  a  pause, 
with  his  eyes  on  the  ground,  "  Why  did  not  your  aunt 
speak  to  me?  Why  does  she  not  love  you1? — she  does 
not,  I  know.  Why  did  she  not  go  to  see  you  when 
your  father  was  alive  ?  "Why  did  you  not  come  to  the 
Glaze ? " 

"  My  dear  papa  did  not  wish  me  to  go  to  your  house," 
said  Judith,  answering  one  of  his  many  questions,  the 
last,  and  perhaps  the  easiest  to  reply  to. 

"  Why  not  ? "  he  glanced  up  at  her,  then  down  on  the 
floor  again. 

"  Papa  was  not  very  pleased  with  Aunt  Dunes — it  was 
no  fault  on  either  side,  only  a  misunderstanding,"  said 
Judith. 


58  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

"  Why  did  lie  not  let  you  come  to  my  house  to  salute 
your  aunt  1 " 

Judith  hesitated.  He  again  looked  up  at  her  search - 
ingly. 

"If  you  really  must  know  the  truth.  Captain  Cop- 
pinger,  papa  thought  your  house  was  hardly  one  to 
which  to  send  two  children — it  was  said  to  harbor  such 
wild  folk." 

"  And  he  did  not  know  how  fiercely  and  successfully 
you  could  defend  yourself  against  wild  folk,"  said  Cop- 
pinger,  with  a  harsh  laugh.  "It  is  we  wild  men  that 
must  fear  you,  for  you  dash  us  about  and  bruise  and 
break  us  when  displeased  with  our  ways.  We  are  not  so 
bad  at  the  Glaze  as  we  are  painted,  not  by  a  half — here 
is  my  hand  on  it." 

Judith  was  still  seated  on  the  music-stool,  her  hands 
resting  in  her  lap.  Coppinger  came  toward  her,  walk- 
ing stiffly,  and  extending  his  palm. 

She  looked  down  in  her  lap.  What  did  this  fierce, 
strange  man,  mean  ? 

"  Will  you  give  me  your  hand  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Is  there 
peace  between  us  1  " 

She  was  doubtful  what  to  say.  He  remained,  awaiting 
her  answer. 

"  I  really  do  not  know  what  reply  to  make,"  she  said, 
after  awhile.  "  Of  course,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  it  is 
peace.  I  have  myself  no  quarrel  with  you,  and  you  are 
good  enough  to  say  that  you  forgive  me." 

"  Then  why  not  peace  ? " 

Again  she  let  him  wait  before  answering.  She  was 
uneasy  and  unhappy.  She  wanted  neither  his  good- 
will nor  his  hostility. 

"In  all  that  affects  me,  I  bear  you  no  ill-will,"  she 
said,  in  a  low,  tremulous  voice ;  "  but  in  that  you  were  a 
grief  to  my  dear,  dear  father,  discouraging  his  heart,  I 
cannot  be  forgetful,  and  so  full  of  charity  as  to  blot  it 
out  as  though  it  had  not  been." 

"Then  let  it  be  a  patched  peace — a  peace  with  eva- 
sions and  reservations.  Better  that  than  none.  Give 
me  your  hand." 

"  On  that  understanding,"  said  Judith,  and  laid  her 
hand  in  his.  His  iron  fingers  closed  round  it,  and  ho 
drew  her  up  from  the  stool  on  which  she  sat,  drew  her 
forward  near  the  window,  and  thrust  her  in  front  of  him. 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF   THE  SEA.  59 

Then  he  raised  her  hand,  held  it  by  the  wrist,  and  looked 
at  it. 

"  It  is  very  small,  very  weak,"  he  said,  musingly. 

Then  there  rushed  over  her  mind  the  recollection  of 
her  last  conversation  with  her  father.  He,  too,  had 
taken  and  looked  at  her  hand,  and  had  made  the  same 
remark. 

Coppinger  lowered  her  hand  and  his,  and,  looking  at 
her,  said : 

"  You  are  very  wonderful  to  me." 

"  I— why  so  ?  " 

He  did  not  answer,  but  let  go  his  hold  of  her,  and 
turned  away  to  the  door. 

Judith  saw  that  he  was  leaving,  and  she  hastened 
to  bring  him  his  stick,  and  she  opened  the  door  for 
him. 

"I  thank  you,"  he  said,  turned,  pointed  his  stick  at 
her,  and  added,  "It  is  peace — though  a  patched  one." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

c.  c. 

Days  ensued,  not  of  rest  to  body,  but  of  relaxation  to 
mind.  Judith's  overstrained  nerves  had  now  given 
them  a  period  of  numbness,  a  sleep  of  sensibility  with 
occasional  turnings  and  wakenings,  in  which  they  re- 
covered their  strength.  She  and  Jamie  were  settled 
into  their  rooms  at  Mr.  Menaida's,  and  the  hours  were 
spent  in  going  to  and  from  the  rectory  removing  their 
little  treasures  to  the  new  home — if  a  temporary  place 
of  lodging  could  be  called  a  home — and  in  arranging 
them  there. 

There  were  a  good  many  farewells  to  be  taken,  and 
Judith  marvelled  sometimes  at  the  insensibility  with 
which  she  said  them — farewells  to  a  thousand  nooks  and 
corners  of  the  house  and  garden,  the  shrubbery,  and  the 
glebe  farm,  all  endeared  by  happy  recollections,  now 
having  their  brightness  dashed  with  rain. 

To  Judith  this  was  a  first  revelation  of  the  mutability 
of  things  on  earth.  Hitherto,  as  a  child,  with  a  child's 
eyes  and  a  child's  confidence,  she  had  regarded  the  rec- 
tory, the  glebe,  the  contents  of  the  house,  the  flowers  in 
the  garden,  as  belonging  inalienably  to  her  father  and 
brother  and  herself.  They  belonged  to  them  together. 
There  was  nothing  that  was  her  father's  that  did  not  be- 
long to  Jamie  and  to  her,  nothing  of  her  brother's  or  her 
own  that  was  not  likewise  the  property  of  papa.  There 
was  no  mine  or  thine  in  that  little  family  of  love — save 
only  a  few  birthday  presents  given  from  one  to  the 
other,  and  these  only  special  property  by  a  playful  con- 
cession. But  now  the  dear  father  was  gone,  and  every 
right  seemed  to  dissolve.  From  the  moment  that  he 
leaned  back  against  the  brick,  lichen- stained  wall,  and 
sighed — and  was  dead,  house  and  land  had  been  snatched 
from  them.  And  though  the  contents  of  the  rectory, 
the  books,  and  the  furniture,  and  the  china  belonged  to 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  61 

them,  it  was  but  for  a  little  while  ;  these  things  must  be 
parted  with  also,  turned  into  silver. 

Not  because  the  money  was  needed,  but  because  Ju- 
dith had  no  settled  home,  and  no  prospect  of  one. 
Therefore  she  must  not  encumber  herself  with  many  be- 
longings. For  a  little  while  she  would  lodge  with  Mr. 
Menaida,  but  she  could  not  live  there  forever ;  she  must 
remove  elsewhere,  and  she  must  consider,  in  the  first 
place,  that  there  was  not  room  in  Uncle  Zachie's  cot- 
tage for  accumulations  of  furniture,  and  that,  in  the  next 
place,  she  would  probably  have  to  part  with  them  on 
her  next  remove,  even  if  she  did  retain  them  for  a 
while. 

If  these  things  were  to  be  parted  with,  it  would  be  ad- 
visable to  part  with  them  at  once.  But  to  this  deter- 
mination Judith  could  not  bring  herself  at  first.  Though 
she  had  put  aside,  to  be  kept,  things  too  sacred  to  her, 
too  much  part  of  her  past  life,  to  be  allowed  to  go  into 
the  sale,  after  a  few  days  she  relinquished  even  these. 
Those  six  delightful  old  colored  prints,  in  frames,  of  a 
fox-hunt— how  Jamie  had  laughed  at  them,  and  followed 
the  incidents  in  them,  and  never  wearied  of  them — must 
they  go — perhaps  for  a  song1?  It  must  be  so.  That 
work-table  of  her  mother's,  of  dark  rosewood,  with  a 
crimson  bag'  beneath  it  to  contain  wools  and  silks,  one 
of  the  few  remembrances  she  had  of  that  mother  whom 
she  but  dimly  recalled — must  that  go?— what,  and  all 
those  skeins  in  it  of  colored  floss  silk,  and  the  piece  of 
embroidery  half  finished  ?  the  work  of  her  mother, 
broken  off  by  death — that  also  ?  It  must  be  so.  And 
that  rusty  leather  chair  in  which  papa  had  sat,  with  one 
golden-headed  child  on  each  knee  cuddled  into  his 
breast,  with  the  flaps  of  his  coat  drawn  over  their  heads, 
which  listened  to  the  tick-tick  of  his  great  watch,  and  to 
the  tale  of  Little  Snowflake,  or  Gracieuse  and  Percinet  ? 
—must  that  go  also  ?  It  must  be  so. 

Every  day  showed  to  Judith  some  fresh  link  that  had 
to  be  broken.  She  could  not  bear  to  think  that  the 
mother's  work-table  should  be  contended  for  at  a  vulgar 
auction,  and  struck  down  to  a  blousy  farmer's  wife  ;  that 
her  father's  chair  should  go  to  some  village  inn  to  be 
occupied  by  sots.  She  would  rather  have  seen  them  de- 
stroyed ;  but  to  destroy  them  would  not  be  right. 

After  a  while  she  longed  for  the  sale  ;  she  desired  to 


62  IN  THE  HOAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

have  it  over,  that  an  entirely  new  page  of  life  might  be 
opened,  and  her  thoughts  might  not  be  carried  back  to 
the  past  by  everything  she  sa~v. 

Of  Coppinger  nothing  further  was  seen.  Nor  did 
Aunt  Dionysia  appear  at  the  rectory  to  superintend  the 
assortment  of  the  furniture,  nor  at  Mr.  Menaida's  to  in- 
quire into  the  welfare  of  her  nephew  and  niece.  To  Ju- 
dith it  was  a  relief  not  to  have  her  aunt  in  the  parson- 
age while  she  was  there  ;  that  hard  voice  and  unsympa- 
thetic manner  would  have  kept  her  nerves  on  the  quiver. 
It  was  best  as  it  was,  that  she  should  have  time,  by 
herself,  with  no  interference  from  any  one,  to  select  what 
was  to  be  kept  and  put  away  what  was  to  be  sold ;  to 
put  away  gently,  with  her  own  trembling  hand,  and  with 
eyes  full  of  tears,  the  old  black  gown  and  the  Oxford 
hood  that  papa  had  worn  in  church,  and  to  burn  his  old 
sermons  and  bundles  of  letters,  unread  and  uncominented 
on  by  Aunt  Dunes. 

In  these  days  Judith  did  not  think  much  of  Cop- 
pinger. Uncle  Zachie  informed  her  that  he  was  worse, 
he  was  confined  to  his  bed,  he  had  done  himself  harm 
by  coming  over  to  Polzeath  the  day  after  his  accident, 
and  the  doctor  had  ordered  him  not  to  stir  from  Pentyre 
Glaze  for  some  time — not  till  his  bones  were  set.  Noth- 
ing was  known  of  the  occasion  of  Coppinger's  injuries, 
so  Uncle  Zachie  said ;  it  was  reported  in  the  place  that 
he  had  been  thrown  from  his  horse.  Judith  entreated 
the  old  man  not  to  enlighten  the  ignorance  of  the  pub- 
lic ;  she  was  convinced  that  naught  would  transpire 
through  Jamie,  who  could  not  tell  a  story  intelligibly ; 
and  Miss  Dionysia  Trevisa  was  not  likely  to  publish 
what  she  knew. 

Judith  had  a  pleasant  little  chamber  at  Mr.  Menaida's ; 
it  was  small,  low,  plastered  against  the  roof,  the  rafters 
showing,  and  whitewashed  like  the  walls  and  ceiling. 
The  light  entered  from  a  dormer  in  the  roof,  a  low 
window  glazed  with  diamond  quarries  set  in  lead  that 
dickered  incessantly  in  the  wind.  It  faced  the  south, 
and  let  the  sun  flow  in.  A  scrap  of  carpet  was  on  the 
floor,  and  white  curtains  to  the  window.  In  this  cham- 
ber Judith  ranged  such  of  her  goods  as  she  had  resolved 
on  retaining,  either  as  indispensable,  or  as  being  too 
dear  to  her  to  part  with  unnecessarily,  and  which,  as 
being  of  small  size,  she  might  keep  without  difficulty. 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  63 

Her  father's  old  travelling-  trunk,  covered  with  hide 
with  the  hair  on,  and  his  initials  in  brass  nails — a  trunk 
he  had  taken  with  him  to  college — was  there,  thrust 
against  the  wall ;  it  contained  her  clothes.  Suspended 
above  it  was  her  little  bookcase,  with  the  shelves  laden 
with  "  The  Travels  of  Rolando,"  Dr.  Aitkin's  "  Evenings 
at  Home,"  Magnal's  "  Questions,"  a  French  Dictionary, 
"  Paul  and  Virginia,"  and  a  few  other  works  such  as  were 
the  delight  of  children  from  ninety  to  a  hundred  years 
ago. 

Books  for  children  were  rare  in  those  days,  and  such 
as  were  produced  were  read  and  re-read  till  they  were 
woven  into  the  very  fibre  of  the  mind,  never  more  to 
be  extricated  and  cast  aside.  Now  it  is  otherwise.  A 
child  reads  a  story-book  every  week,  and  each  new 
story-book  effaces  the  impression  produced  by  the  book 
that  went  before.  The  result  of  much  reading  is  the 
same  as  the  result  of  no  reading — the  production  of  a 
blank. 

How  Judith  and  Jamie  had  sat  together  perched  up 
in  a  sycamore,  in  what  they  called  their  nest,  and  had 
revelled  in  the  adventures  of  Eolando,  she  reading 
aloud,  he  listening  a  little,  then  lapsing-  into  observa- 
tion of  the  birds  that  flew  and  hopped  about,  or  the 
insects  that  spun  and  crept,  or  dropped  on  silky  lines, 
or  fluttered  humming  about  the  nest,  then  returned  to 
attention  to  the  book  again !  Rolando  would  remain 
through  life  the  friend  and  companian  of  Judith.  She 
could  not  part  with  the  four-volumed,  red-leather-backed 
book. 

For  the  first  day  or  two  Jamie  had  accompanied  his 
sister  to  the  rectory,  and  had  somewhat  incommoded  her 
by  his  restlessness  and  his  mischief,  but  on  the  third 
day,  and  thenceforth,  he  no  longer  attended  her.  He 
had  made  fast  friends  with  Uncle  Zachie.  He  was 
amused  with  watching  the  process  of  bird-stuffing,  and 
the  old  man  made  use  of  the  boy  by  giving  him  tow  to 
pick  to  pieces  and  wires  to  straighten. 

Mr.  Menaida  was  pleased  to  have  some  one  by  him  in 
his  workshop  to  whom  he  could  talk.  It  was  unimpor- 
tant to  him  whether  the  listener  followed  the  thread  of 
his  conversation  or  not,  so  long  as  he  was  a  listener. 
Mr.  Menaida,  in  his  solitude,  had  been  wont  to  talk  to 
himself,  to  grumble  to  himself  at  the  impatience  of  his 


64  I2V"  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

customers,  to  lament  to  himself  the  excess  of  work  that 
pressed  upon  him  and  deprived  him  of  time  for  relaxa- 
tion. He  was  wont  to  criticise,  to  himself,  his  success  or 
want  of  success  in  the  setting-  up  of  a  bird.  It  was  far 
more  satisfactory  to  him  to  be  able  to  address  all  these 
remarks  to  a  second  party. 

He  was,  moreover,  surprised  to  find  how  keen  and 
just  had  been  Jamie's  observation  of  birds,  their  ways, 
their  attitudes.  Judith  was  delighted  to  think  that 
Jamie  had  discovered  talent  of  some  sort,  and  he  had,  so 
Uncle  Zachie  assured  her,  that  imitative  ability  which 
is  often  found  to  exist  alongside  with  low  intellectual 
power,  and  this  enabled  him  to  assist  Mr.  Menaida  in 
giving  a  natural  posture  to  his  birds. 

It  flattered  the  boy  to  find  that  he  was  appreciated, 
that  he  was  consulted,  and  asked  to  assist  in  a  kind  of 
work  that  exacted  nothing  of  his  mind. 

When  Uncle  Zachie  was  tired  of  his  task,  which  was 
every  ten  minutes  or  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  that  was 
the  extreme  limit  to  which  he  could  continue  regular 
work,  he  lit  his  pipe,  left  his  bench,  and  sat  in  his  arm- 
chair. Then  Jamie  also  left  his  tow-picking-  or  wire- 
punching,  and  listened,  or  seemed  to  listen,  to  Mr.  Me- 
naida's  talk.  When  the  old  man  had  finished  his  pipe, 
and,  with  a  sigh,  went  back  to  his  task,  Jamie  was  tired 
of  hearing  him  talk,  and  was  glad  to  resume  his  work. 
Thus  the  two  desultory  creatures  suited  each  other  ad- 
mirably, and  became  attached  friends. 

"Jamie !  what  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  "  asked  Judith, 
with  a  start  and  a  rush  of  blood  to  her  heart. 

She  had  returned  in  the  twilight  from  the  parsonage. 
There  was  something  in  the  look  of  her  brother,  some- 
thing in  his  manner  that  was  unusual. 

"  Jamie !  What  have  you  been  taking-  ?  Who  gave  it 
you  ?  " 

She  caught  the  boy  by  the  arm.  Distress  and  shame 
were  in  her  face,  in  the  tones  of  her  voice. 

Mr.  Menaida  grunted. 

"  I'm  sorry,  but  it  can't  be  helped — really  it  can't,"  said 
he,  apologetically.  "  But  Captain  Coppinger  has  sent 
me  down  a  present  of  a  keg-  of  cognac — real  cognac, 
splendid,  amber-like— and,  you  know,  it  was  uncom- 
monly kind.  He  never  did  it  before.  So  there  was  no 
avoidance  ;  we  had  to  tap  it  and  taste  it,  and  give  a  sup 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  65 

to  the  fellow  who  brought  us  the  keg1,  and  drink  the 
health  of  the  Captain.  One  could  not  be  churlish ;  and, 
naturally,  I  could  not  abstain  from  letting1  Jamie  try  the 
spirit.  Perfectly  pure  —  quite  wholesome  —  first-rate 
quality.  Upon  my  word,  he  had  not  more  than  a  fly 
could  dip  his  legs  in  and  feel  the  bottom  ;  but  he  is  un- 
accustomed to  anything"  stronger  than  cider,  and  this  is 
stronger  than  I  supposed." 

"  Mr.  Menaida,  you  promised  me — 

"Bless  me!  There  are  contingencies,  you  know.  I 
never  for  a  moment  thought  that  Captain  Coppinger 
would  show  me  such  a  favor,  would  have  such  courtesy. 
But,  upon  my  honor,  I  think  it  is  your  doing,  my  dear ! 
You  shook  hands  and  made  peace  with  him,  and  he  has 
sent  this  in  token  of  the  cessation  of  hostilities  and  the 
ratification  of  the  agreement." 

"  Mr.  Menaida,  I  trusted  you.  I  did  believe,  when  you 
passed  your  word  to  me,  that  you  would  hold  to  it." 

"  Now — there,  don't  take  it  in  that  way.  Jamie,  you 
rascal,  hop  off  to  bed.  He'll  be  right  as  a  trivet  to-mor- 
row morning,  I  stake  my  reputation  on  that.  There, 
there,  I  will  help  him  up-stairs." 

Judith  suffered  Mr.  Menaida  to  do  as  he  proposed. 
When  he  had  left  the  room  with  Jamie,  who  was  reluc- 
tant to  go,  and  struggled  to  remain,  she  seated  herself 
on  the  sofa,  and  covering  her  face  with  her  hands  burst 
into  tears.  Whom  could  she  trust  ?  No  one. 

Had  she  been  alone  in  the  world  she  would  have  been 
more  confident  of  the  future,  been  able  to  look  forward 
with  a  good  courage ;  but  she  had  to  carry  Jamie  with 
her,  who  must  be  defended  from  himself,  and  from  the 
weak  good-nature  of  those  he  was  with. 

When  Uncle  Zachie  came  down-stairs  he  slunk  into 
his  workroom  and  was  very  quiet.  No  lamp  or  candle 
was  lighted,  and  it  was  too  dark  for  him  to  continue  his 
employment  on  the  birds.  What  was  he  doing  ?  Noth- 
ing. He  was  ashamed  of  himself,  and  keeping  out  of 
Judith's  way. 

But  Judith  would  not  let  him  escape  so  easily ;  she 
went  to  him,  as  he  avoided  her,  and  found  him  seated 
in  a  corner  turning  his  pipe  about.  He  had  been  afraid 
of  striking  a  light,  lest  he  should  call  her  attention  to 
his  presence. 

"Oh,  my  dear,  come  in  here  into  the  workshop  to  me ! 


66  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

This  is  an  honor,  an  unexpected  pleasure.  Jamie  and 
I  have  been  drudging  like  slaves  all  day,  and  we're 
fagged — fagged  to  the  ends  of  our  fingers  and  toes." 

"  Mr.  Menaida,  I  am  sorry  to  say  it,  but  if  such  a  thing 
happens  again  as  has  taken  place  this  evening,  Jamie 
and  I  must  leave  your  house.  I  thank  you  with  an  over- 
flowing heart  for  your  goodness  to  us  ;  but  I  must  con- 
sider Jamie  above  everything  else,  and  I  must  see  that 
he  be  not  exposed  to  temptation." 

"  Where  will  you  take  him  ? " 

"  I  cannot  tell ;  but  I  must  shield  him." 

"  There,  there,  not  a  word !  It  shall  never  happen 
again.  Now  let  by-gones  be  by-gones,  and  play  me 
something  of  Beethoven,  while  I  sit  here  and  listen  in 
the  twilight." 

"  No,  Mr.  Menaida,  I  cannot.  I  have  not  the  spirit  to 
do  it.  I  can  think  only  of  Jamie." 

"  So  you  punish  me  ! " 

"  Take  it  so.     I  am  sorry ;  but  I  cannot  do  otherwise." 

"  Now,  look  here !  Bless  my  soul !  I  had  almost  for- 
gotten it.  Here  is  a  note  for  you,  from  the  Captain,  I 
believe."  He  went  to  the  chimney-piece  and  took  down 
a  scrap  of  paper,  folded  and  sealed. 

Judith  looked  at  it  and  went  to  the  window,  broke  the 
seal,  and  opened  the  paper.  She  read — 

"  Why  do  you  not  come  and  see  me  ?  You  do  not  care 
for  what  you  have  done.  They  call  me  cruel ;  but  you 
are  that.— C.  C." 


CHAPTER  X. 

EGO  ET  BEGINA  MEA. 

The  strange,  curt  note  from  Cruel  Coppinger  served 
in  a  measure  to  divert  the  current  of  Judith's  thoughts 
from  her  trouble  about  Jamie.  It  was,  perhaps,  as  well, 
or  she  would  have  fretted  over  that  throughout  the  night, 
not  only  because  of  Jamie,  but  because  she  felt  that  her 
father  had  left  his  solemn  injunction  on  her  to  protect 
and  guide  her  twin-brother,  and  she  knew  that  whatso- 
ever harm,  physical  or  moral,  came  to  him,  argued  a  lack 
of  attention  to  her  duty.  Her  father  had  not  been  dead 
many  days,  and  already  Jamie  had  been  led  from  the  path 
she  had  undertaken  to  keep  him  in. 

But  when  she  began  to  worry  herself  about  Jamie,  the 
bold  characters,  "  C.  C.,"  with  which  the  letter  was  signed, 
rose  before  her,  and  glowed  in  the  dark  as  characters  of 
fire. 

She  had  gone  to  her  bedroom,  and  had  retired  for  the 
night,  but  could  not  sleep.  The  moon  shone  through 
the  lattice  into  her  chamber,  and  on  the  stool  by  the 
window  lay  the  letter,  where  she  had  cast  it.  Her  mind 
turned  to  it. 

Why  did  Coppinger  call  her  cruel  ?  Was  she  cruel  ? 
Not  intentionally  so.  She  had  not  wilfully  injured  him. 
He  did  not  suppose  that.  He  meant  that  she  was  heart- 
less and  indifferent  in  letting  him  suffer  without  making 
any  inquiry  concerning  him. 

He  had  injured  himself  by  coming  to  Polzeath  to  see 
her  the  day  following  his  accident.  Uncle  Zachie  had 
assured  her  of  that. 

She  went  on  in  her  busy  mind  to  ask  why  he  had  come 
to  see  her  ?  Surely  there  had  been  no  need  for  him  to 
do  so !  His  motive — the  only  motive  she  could  imagine 
—was  a  desire  to  relieve  her  from  "anxiety  and  distress  of 
mind ;  a  desire  to  show  her  that  he  bore  no  ill-will  tow- 
ard her  for  what  she  had  done.  That  was  generous  and 


68  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

considerate  of  him.  Had  he  not  come  she  certainly 
would  have  been  unhappy  and  in  unrest,  would  have  im- 
agined all  kinds  of  evil  as  likely  to  ensue  through  his 
hostility — for  one  thing-,  her  aunt's  dismissal  from  her 
post  might  have  been  expected. 

But  Coppiiiger,  though  in  pain,  and  at  a  risk  to  his 
health,  had  walked  to  where  she  was  lodging  to  disabuse 
her  of  any  such  impression.  She  was  grateful  to  him  for 
so  doing.  She  felt  that  such  a  man  could  not  be  utterly 
abandoned  by  God,  entirely  void  of  good  qualities,  as 
she  had  supposed,  viewing  him  only  through  the  repre- 
sentations of  his  character  and  the  tales  circulating  rela- 
tive to  his  conduct  that  had  reached  her. 

A  child  divides  mankind  into  two  classes — the  good 
and  the  bad,  and  supposes  that  there  is  no  debatable  land 
between  them,  where  light  and  shade  are  blended  into 
neutral  tint ;  certainly  not  that  there  are  blots  on  the 
white  leaf  of  the  lives  of  the  good,  and  luminous 
glimpses  in  the  darkness  of  the  histories  of  the  bad.  As 
they  grow  older  they  rectify  their  judgments,  and  such 
a  rectification  Judith  had  now  to  make. 

She  was  assisted  in  this  by  compassion  for  Coppinger, 
who  was  in  suffering,  and  by  self-reproach,  because  she 
was  the  occasion  of  this  suffering. 

What  were  the  exact  words  Captain  Cruel  had  em- 
ployed ?  She  was  not  certain ;  she  turned  the  letter  over 
and  over  in  her  mind,  and  could  not  recall  every  expres- 
sion, and  she  could  not  sleep  till  she  was  satisfied. 

Therefore  she  rose  from  bed,  stole  to  the  window,  took 
up  the  letter,  seated  herself  on  the  stool,  and  conned 
it  in  the  moonlight.  "Why  do  you  not  come  and  see 
me  ?  You  do  not  care  for  what  you  have  done."  That 
was  not  true  ;  she  was  greatly  troubled  at  what  she  had 
done.  She  was  sick  at  heart  when  she  thought  of  that 
scene  in  the  lane,  when  the  black  mare  was  leaping  and 
pounding  with  her  hoofs,  and  Coppinger  lay  on  the 
ground.  One  kick  of  the  hoof  on  his  head,  and  he  would 
have  been  dead.  His  blood  would  have  rested  on  her 
conscience,  never  to  be  wiped  off.  Horrible  was  the  recol- 
lection now,  in  the  stillness  of  the  night.  It  was  mar- 
vellous that  life  had  not  been  beaten  out  of  the  prostrate 
man,  that,  dragged  about  by  the  arm,  he  had  not  been 
torn  to  pieces,  that  every  bone  had  not  been  shattered, 
that  his  face  had  not  been  battered  out  of  recognition. 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  69 

Judith  felt  the  perspiration  stand  on  her  brow  at  the 
thought.  God  had  been  very  good  to  her  in  sending 
His  angel  to  save  Coppinger  from  death  and  her  from 
blood-guiltiness.  She  slid  to  her  knees  at  the  window, 
and  held  up  her  hands,  the  moonlight  illuminating  her 
white  upturned  face,  as  she  gave  thanks  to  Heaven  that 
no  greater  evil  had  ensued  from  her  inconsidered  act  with 
the  button-basket  than  a  couple  of  broken  bones. 

Oh !  it  was  very  far  indeed  from  true  that  she  did  not 
care  for  what  she  had  done.  Coppinger  must  have  been 
blind  indeed  not  to  have  seen  how  she  fej.t  her  conduct. 
His  letter  concluded :  "  They  call  me  cruel ;  but  you  are 
that."  He  meant^that  she  was  cruel  in  not  coming  to  the 
Glaze  to  inquire  after  him.  He  had  thought  of  her 
trouble  of  mind,  and  had  gone  to  Polzeath  to  relieve  her 
of  anxiety,  and  she  had  shown  no  consideration  for  him 
— or  not  in  like  manner. 

She  had  been  very  busy  at  the  rectory.  Her  mind  had 
been  concerned  with  her  own  affairs,  that  was  her  ex- 
cuse. Cruel  she  was  not.  She  took  no  pleasure  in  his 
pain.  But  she  hesitated  about  going  to  see  him.  That 
was  more  than  was  to  be  expected  of  a  young  girl.  She 
would  go  on  the  morrow  to  Coppinger's  house,  and  ask 
to  speak  to  her  aunt ;  that  she  might  do,  and  from  Aunt 
Dioiiysia  she  would  learn  in  what  condition  Captain 
Cruel  was,  and  might  send  him  her  respects  and  wishes 
for  his  speedy  recovery. 

As  she  still  knelt  in  her  window,  looking  up  through 
the  diamond  panes  into  the  clear,  gray-blue  sky,  she 
heard  a  sound  without,  and,  looking  down,  saw  a  convoy 
of  horses  pass,  laden  with  bales  and  kegs,  and  followed 
or  accompanied  by  men  wearing  slouched  hats.  So 
little  noise  did  the  beasts  make  in  traversing  the  road, 
that  Judith  was  convinced  their  hoofs  must  be  muffled 
in  felt.  She  had  heard  that  this  was  done  by  the  smug- 
glers. It  was  said  that  all  Coppinger's  horses  had  their 
boots  drawn  on  when  engaged  in  conveying  run  goods 
from  the  place  where  stored  to  their  destination. 

These  were  Coppinger's  men,  this  his  convoy,  doubt- 
less. Judith  thrust  the  letter  from  her.  He  was  a  bad 
man,  a  very  bad  man ;  and  if  he  had  met  with  an  acci- 
dent, it  was  his  due,  a  judgment  on  his  sins.  She  rose 
from  her  knees,  turned  away,  and  went  back  to  her  bed. 

Next  day,  after  a  morning  spent  at  the  rectory,  in  the 


70  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

hopes  that  her  aunt  might  arrive  and  obviate  the  need 
of  her  going-  in  quest  of  her,  Judith,  disappointed  in 
this  hope,  prepared  to  walk  to  Pentyre.  Mrs.  Dionysia 
had  not  acted  with  kindness  toward  her.  Judith  felt 
this,  without  allowing  herself  to  give  to  the  feeling 
articulate  expression.  She  made  what  excuses  she 
could  for  Aunt  Dunes :  she  was  hindered  by  duties  that 
had  crowded  upon  her,  she  had  been  forbidden  going 
by  Captain  Cruel;  but  none  of  these  excuses  satisfied 
Judith. 

Judith  must  go  herself  to  the  Glaze,  and  she  had 
reasons  of  her  own  for  wishing  to  see  her  aunt,  inde- 
pendent of  the  sense  of  obligation  on  her,  more  or  less 
acknowledged,  that  she  must  obey  the  summons  of  C.  C. 
There  were  matters  connected  with  the  rectory,  with 
the  furniture  there,  the  cow,  and  the  china,  that  Mrs. 
Trevisa  must  give  her  judgment  upon.  There  were 
bills  that  had  come  in,  which  Mrs.  Trevisa  must  pay, 
as  Judith  had  been  left  without  any  money  in  her 
pocket. 

As  the  girl  walked  through  the  lanes  she  turned  over 
in  her  mind  the  stories  she  had  heard  of  the  smuggler 
Captain,  the  wild  tales  of  his  wrecking  ships,  of  his 
contests  with  the  Preventive  men,  and  the  ghastly  trag- 
edy of  Wyvill,  who  had  been  washed  up  headless  on 
Doombar.  In  former  days  she  had  accepted  all  these 
stories  as  true,  had  not  thought  of  questioning  them ; 
but  now  that  she  had  looked  Coppinger  in  the  face,  had 
spoken  with  him,  experienced  his  consideration,  she 
could  not  believe  that  they  were  to  be  accepted  without 
question.  That  story  of  Wyvill  —  that  Captain  Cruel 
had  hacked  off  his  head  on  the  gunwale  with  his  axe — 
seemed  to  her  now  utterly  incredible.  But  if  true !  She 
shuddered  to  think  that  her  hand  had  been  held  in  that 
stained  with  so  hideous  a  crime. 

Thus  musing,  Judith  arrived  at  Pentyre  Glaze,  and 
entering  the  porch,  turned  from  the  sea,  knocked  at  the 
door. 

A  loud  voice  bade  her  enter.  She  knew  that  the  voice 
proceeded  from  Coppinger,  and  her  heart  fluttered  with 
fear  and  uncertainty.  She  halted,  with  her  hand  on  the 
door,  inclined  to  retreat  without  entering;  but  again 
the  voice  summoned  her  to  come  it,  and  gathering  up 
her  courage  she  opened  the  door,  and,  still  holding  the 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  71 

latch,  took  a  few  steps  forward  into  the  hall  or  kitchen, 
into  which  it  opened. 

A  fire  was  smouldering"  in  the  great  open  fireplace, 
and  beside  it,  in  a  carved  oak  arm-chair,  sat  Cruel  Cop- 
pinger,  with  a  small  table  at  his  side,  on  which  were  a 
bottle  and  glass,  a  canister  of  tobacco  and  a  pipe.  His 
arm  was  strapped  across  his  breast  as  she  had  seen  it  a 
few  days  before.  Entering-  from  the  brilliant  light  of 
day,  Judith  could  not  at  first  observe  his  face,  but,  as 
her  eyes  became  accustomed  fo  the  twilight  of  the 
smoke-blackened  and  gloomy  hall,  she  saw  that  he 
looked  more  worn  and  pale  than  he  had  seemed  the  day 
after  the  accident.  Nor  could  she  understand  the  ex- 
pression on  his  countenance  when  he  was  aware  who 
was  his  visitor. 

"  I  beg-  your  pardon,"  said  Judith ;  "  I  am  sorry  to  have 
intruded ;  but  I  wished  to  speak  to  my  aunt." 

"  Your  aunt  ?  Old  mother  Dunes  ?  Come  in.  Let 
go  your  hold  of  the  door  and  shut  it.  Your  aunt  started 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  ago  for  the  rectory." 

"  And  I  came  along-  the  lane  from  Polzeath." 

"  Then  no  wonder  you  did  not  meet  her.  She  went  by 
the  church  path,  of  course,  and  over  the  down." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  missed  her.  Thank  you,  Captain 
Copping-er,  for  telling-  me." 

"  Stay  !  "  he  roared,  as  he  observed  her  draw  back  into 
the  porch.  "  You  are  not  g-oing-  yet  1  " 

"  I  cannot  stay  for  more  than  a  moment  in  which  to 
ask  how  you  do,  and  whether  you  are  somewhat  better  ? 
I  was  sorry  to  hear  you  had  been  worse." 

"  I  have  been  worse,  yes.  Come  in.  You  shall  not  g-o. 
I  am  mewed  in  as  a  prisoner,  and  have  none  to  speak  to, 
and  no  one  to  look  at  but  old  Dunes.  Come  in,  and  take 
that  stool  by  the  fire,  and  let  me  hear  you  speak,  and 
let  me  rest  my  eyes  a  while  on  your  golden  hair — gold 
more  golden  than  that  of  the  Indies." 

"  I  hope  you  are  better,  sir,"  said  Judith,  ignoring  the 
compliment. 

"  I  am  better  now  I  have  seen  you.  I  shall  be  worse 
if  you  do  not  come  in." 

She  refused  to  do  this  by  a  light  shake  of  the  head. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  afraid.  We  are  wild  and  lawless 
men  here,  ogres  that  eat  children !  Come,  child,  I  have 
something  to  show  you." 


72  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

"  Thank  you  for  your  kindness ;  but  I  must  run  to  the 
parsonage ;  I  really  must  see  my  aunt." 

"Then  I  will  send  her  to  Polzeath  to^you  when  she  re- 
turns. She  will  keep  ;  she's  stale  enough." 

"  I  would  spare  her  the  trouble." 

"  Pshaw  !  She  shall  do  what  I  will.  Now  see — I  am 
wearied  to  death  with  solitude  and  sickness.  Come, 
amuse  yourself,  if  you  will,  with  insulting  me — calling 
me  what  you  like;  I  do  not  mind,  so  long  as  you  re- 
main." 

"I  have  no  desire  whatever,  Captain  Coppinger,  to 
insult  you  and  call  you  names." 

"  You  insult  me  by  standing  there  holding  the  latch- 
standing  on  one  foot,  as  if  afraid  to  sully  the  soles  by 
treading  my  tainted  floor.  Is  it  not  an  insult  that  you 
refuse  to  come  in  1  Is  it  not  so  much  as  saying  to  me, 
'You  are  false,  cruel,  not  to  be  trusted;  you  are  not 
worthy  that  I  should  be  under  the  same  roof  with  you, 
and  breathe  the  same  air  ? ' ' 

"  Oh,  Captain  Coppinger,  I  do  not  mean  that !  " 

"  Then  let  go  the  latch  and  come  in.  Stand,  if  you  will 
not  sit,  opposite  me.  How  can  I  see  you  there,  in  the 
doorway  ? " 

"  There  is  not  much  to  see  when  I  am  visible,"  said 
Judith,  laughing. 

"  Oh,  no  !  not  much !  Only  a  little  creature  who  has 
more  daring  than  any  man  in  Cornwall — who  will  stand 
up  to,  and  cast  at  her  feet,  Cruel  Coppinger,  at  whose 
name  men  tremble." 

Judith  let  go  her  hold  on  the  door,  and  moved  timidly 
into  the  hall ;  but  she  let  the  door  remain  half  open  that 
the  light  and  air  flowed  in." 

"  And  now,"  said  Captain  Coppinger,  "  here  is  a  key 
on  this  table  by  me.  Do  you  see  a  small  door  by  the 
clock-case  ?  Unlock  that  door  with  the  key." 

:'  You  want  something  from  thence  ? " 

"  I  want  you  to  unlock  the  door.  There  are  beautiful 
and  costly  things  within  that  you  shall  see." 

"  Thank  you ;  but  I  would  rather  look  at  them  some 
other  day,  when  my  aunt  is  here,  and  I  have  more  time." 

"  Will  you  refuse  me  even  the  pleasure  of  letting  you 
see  what  is  there  ? " 

"If  you  particularly  desire  it,  Captain  Coppinger,  I 
will  peep  in — but  only  peep." 


J^  TEE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  73 

She  took  the  key  from  his  table,  and  crossed  the  hall 
to  the  door.  The  lock  was  large  and  clumsy,  but  she 
turned  the  key  by  putting-  both  hands  to  it.  Then, 
swinging1  open  the  door,  she  looked  inside.  The  door 
opened  into  an  apartment  crowded  with  a  collection  of 
sundry  articles  of  value  :  bales  of  silk  from  Italy,  Genoa 
laces,  Spanish  silver-inlaid  weapons,  Chinese  porcelain, 
bronzes  from  Japan,  gold  and  silver  ornaments,  brace- 
lets, brooches,  watches,  inlaid  mother-of-pearl  cabinets 
— an  amazing  congeries  of  valuables  heaped  together. 

"  Well,  now !  "  shouted  Cruel  Coppinger.  "  What  say 
you  to  the  gay  things  there  ?  Choose — take  what  you 
will.  I  care  not  for  them  one  rush.  What  do  you  most 
admire,  most  covet  ?  Put  out  both  hands  and  take — take 
all  you  would  have,  fill  your  lap,  carry  off  all  you  can.  It 
is  yours." 

Judith  drew  hastily  back  and  relocked  the  door. 

"  What  have  you  taken  ? " 

"  Nothing." 

"  Nothing  I     Take  what  you  will ;  I  give  it  freely." 

"  I  cannot  take  anything,  though  I  thank  you,  Captain 
Coppinger,  for  your  kind  and  generous  offer." 

:<  You  will  accept  nothing  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  That  is  like  you.  You  do  it  to  anger  me.  As  you 
throw  hard  words  at  me — coward,  wrecker,  robber— and 
as  you  dash  broken  glass,  buttons,  buckles,  in  my  face, 
so  do  you  throw  back  my  offers." 

"  It  is  not  through  ingratitude— 

"  I  care  not  through  what  it  is !  You  seek  to  anger, 
and  not  to  please  me.  Why  will  you  take  nothing? 
There  are  beautiful  things  there  to  charm  a  woman." 

"  I  am  not  a  woman ;  I  am  a  little  girl." 

"Why  do  you  refuse  me  1 " 

"  For  one  thing,  because  I  want  none  of  the  things 
there,  beautiful  and  costly  though  they  be." 

"  And  for  the  other  thing •?  " 

"  For  the  other  thing— excuse  my  plain  speaking — I  do 
not  think  they  have  been  honestly  got." 

"  By  heavens  !  "  shouted  Coppirfger.  "  There  you  at- 
tack and  stab  at  me  again.  I  like  your  plainness  of  speech. 
You  do  not  spare  me.  I  would  not  have  you  false  and 
double  like  old  Dunes." 

"  Oh,  Captain  Coppinger !  I  give  you  thanks  from  the 


74  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

depths  of  my  heart.  It  is  kindly  intended,  and  it  is  so 
good  and  noble  of  you,  I  feel  that ;  for  I  have  hurt  you 
and  reduced  you  to  the  state  in  which  you  now  are,  and 
yet  you  offer  me  the  best  thing's  in  your  house — thing's 
of  priceless  value.  I  acknowledge  your  goodness ;  but 
just  because  I  know  I  do  not  deserve  this  goodness  I 
must  decline  what  you  offer." 

"  Then  come  here  and  give  me  the  key." 

She  stepped  lightly  over  the  floor  to  him  and  handed 
him  the  great  iron  key  to  his  store  chamber.  As  she  did 
so  he  caught  her  hand,  bowed  his  dark  head,  and  kissed 
her  fingers. 

"Captain  Coppinger!"  She  started  back,  trembling, 
and  snatched  her  hand  from  him. 

"  What !  have  I  offended  you  again  ?  Why  not  ?  A 
subject  kisses  the  hand  of  his  queen ;  and  I  am  a  subject, 
and  you — you  my  queen." 


CHAPTEE  XI. 

JESSAMINE. 

"  How  are  you,  old  man  ?  " 

"  Middlin',  thanky';  and  how  be  you,  gov'nor?" 

"  Middlin'  also  ;  and  your  missus  ? " 

"  Only  sadly.  I  fear  she's  goin'  slow  but  sure  the  way 
of  all  flesh." 

"  Bless  us  !  'Tis  a  trouble  and  expense  them  sort  o' 
thing's.  Now  to  work,  shall  we  ?  What  do  you  figure 
up  ? " 

"  And  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  well,  I'm  not  here  on  reg'lar  business.  Huntin' 
on  my  own  score  to-day." 

"  Oh,  ay  !     Nice  port  this." 

"Best  the  old  fellow  had  in  his  cellar.  I  told,  the 
executrix  I  should  like  the  taste  of  it,  and  advise  there- 
on." 

The  valuers  for  dilapidations,  vulgarly  termed  dilapi- 
dators,  were  met  in  the  dining-room  of  the  deserted  par- 
sonage. Mr.  Scantlebray  was  on  one  side,  Mr.  Cargreen 
on  the  other.  Mr.  Scantlebray  was  on  that  of  the  "  or- 
phiiigs,"  as  he  termed  his  clients,  and  Mr.  Cargreen  on 
that  of  the  Eev.  Mr.  Mules,  the  recently  nominated  rec- 
tor to  S.  Enodoc. 

Mr.  Scantlebray  was  a  tall,  lean  man,  with  light  gray 
eyes,  a  red  face,  and  legs  and  arms  that  he  shook  every 
now  and  then  as  though  they  were  encumbrances  to  his 
trunk  and  he  was  going  to  shake  them  off,  as  a  poodle 
issuing  from  a  bath  shakes  the  water  out  of  his  locks. 
Mr.  Cargreen  was  a  bullet-headed  man,  with  a  white 
neckcloth,  gray  whiskers,  a  solemn  face,  and  a  sort  of 
perpetual  "  Let-us-pray  "  expression  on  his  lips  and  in 
his  eyes — a  composing  of  his  interior  faculties  and  ab- 
straction from  worldly  concerns. 

"  I  am  here,"  said  Mr.  Scantlebray,  "  as  adviser  and 
friend — you  understand,  old  man — of  the  orphings  and 
their  haunt." 


76  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

"  And  I,"  said  Mr.  Cargreen,  "  am  ditto  to  the  incom- 
ing1 rector." 

"  And  what  do  you  get  out  of  this  visit  ? "  asked  Mr. 
Scantlebray,  who  was  a  frank  man. 

"  Only  three  guineas  as  a  fee,"  said  Mr.  Cargreen. 
"And  you?" 

"Ditto,  old  man — three  guineas.  You  understand,  I 
am  not  here  as  valuer  to-day." 

"  Nor  I — only  as  adviser." 

"  Exactly  !  Taste  this  port.  'Taint  bad — out  of  the 
cellar  of  the  old  chap.  Told  auntie  I  must  have  it,  to 
taste  and  give  opinion  on." 

"  And  what  are  you  going  to  do  to-day  1 " 

"  I'm  going  to  have  one  or  two  little  things  pulled 
down,  and  other  little  things  put  to  rights." 

"  Humph !    I'm  here  to  see  nothing  is  pulled  down." 

"We  won't  quarrel.  There's  the  conservatory,  and 
the  linney  in  Willa  Park." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Cargreen,  shaking  his  head. 

"Now  look  here,  old  man,"  said  Mr.  Scantlebray. 
"You  let  me  tear  the  linney  down,  and  I'll  let  the  con- 
servatory stand." 

"  The  conservatory— 

"  I  know ;  the  casement  of  the  best  bedroom  went 
through  the  roof  of  it.  I'll  mend  the  roof  and  repaint  it. 
You  can  try  the  timber,  and  find  it  rotten,  and  lay  on 
dilapidations  enough  to  cover  a  new  conservatory.  Pass 
the  linney ;  I  want  to  make  pickings  out  of  that." 

It  may  perhaps  be  well  to  let  the  reader  understand 
the  exact  situation  of  the  two  men  engaged  in  sipping 
port.  Directly  it  was  known  that  a  rector  had  been 
nominated  to  S.  Enodoc,  Mr.  Cargreen,  a  Bodmin  valuer, 
agent,  and  auctioneer,  had  written  to  the  happy  nomi- 
nee, Mr.  Mules,  of  Birmingham,  inclosing  his  card  in 
the  letter,  to  state  that  he  was  a  member  of  an  old-estab- 
lished firm,  enjoying  the  confidence,  not  to  say  the 
esteem  of  the  principal  county  families  in  the  north  of 
Cornwall,  that  he  was  a  sincere  Churchman,  that  de- 
ploring, as  a  true  son  of  the  Church,  the  prevalence  of 
Dissent,  he  felt  it  his  duty  to  call  the  attention  of  the 
reverend  gentleman  to  certain  facts  that  concerned  him, 
but  especially  the  CHURCH,  and  facts  that  he  himself,  as 
a  devoted  son  of  the  Church,  on  conviction,  after  mature 
study  of  its  tenets,  felt  called  upon,  in  the  interest  of 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  77 

that  Church  he  so  had  at  heart,  to  notice.  He  had  heard, 
said  Mr.  Cargreen,  that  the  outgoing  parties  from  8. 
Enodoc  were  removing-,  or  causing-  to  be  removed,  or 
were  proposing-  to  remove,  certain  fixtures  in  the  parson- 
ag-e,  and  certain  out -building's,  barns,  tenements,  sheds, 
and  linneys  on  the  glebe  and  parsonage  premises,  to  the 
detriment  of  its  value,  inasmuch  as  that  such  removal 
would  be  prejudicial  to  the  letting-  of  thS  land,  and 
render  it  impossible  for  the  incoming  rector  to  farm  it 
himself  without  re-erecting-  the-  very  buildings  now  in 
course  of  destruction,  or  which  were  purposed  to  be  de- 
stroyed :  to  wit,  certain  out-buildings,  barns,  cattle-sheds, 
and  linneys,  together  with  other  tenements  that  need 
not  be  specified.  Mr.  Cargreen  added  that,  roughly 
speaking,  the  dilapidations  of  these  building-s,  if  allowed 
to  stand,  might  be  assessed  at  £300 ;  but  that,  if  pulled 
down,  it  would  cost  the  new  rector  about  £700  to  re-erect 
them,  and  their  re-erection  would  be  an  imperative  ne- 
cessity. Mr.  Cargreen  had  himself,  personally,  no  inter- 
est in  the  matter ;  but,  as  a  true  son  of  the  Church,  etc., 
etc. 

By  return  of  post  Mr.  Cargreen  received  an  urgent  re- 
quest from  the  Rev.  Mr.  Mules  to  act  as  his  agent,  and 
to  act  with  precipitation  in  the  protection  of  his  interests. 

In  the  meantime  Mr.  Scantlebray  had  not  been  neg- 
lectful of  other  people's  interest.  He  had  written  to 
Miss  Dionysia  Trevisa  to  inform  her  that,  though  he  did 
not  enjoy  a  present  acquaintance,  it  was  the  solace  and 
joy  of  his  heart  to  remember  that  some  years  ago,  before 
that  infelicitous  marriage  of  Mr.  Trevisa,  which  had  led 
to  Miss  Dionysia's  leaving  the  rectory,  it  had  been  his 
happiness  to  meet  her  at  the  house  of  a  mutual  acquaint- 
ance, Mrs.  Scaddon,  where  he  had  respectfully,  and,  at 
this  distance  of  time,  he  ventured  to  add,  humbly  and 
hopelessly  admired  her ;  that,  as  he  was  riding  past  the 
rectory  he  had  chanced  to  observe  the  condition  of  dila- 
pidation certain  tenements,  pig-sties,  cattle-sheds,  and 
other  out-buildings  were  in,  and  that,  though  it  in  no 
way  concerned  him,  yet,  for  auld  lang  syne's  sake,  and  a 
desire  to  assist  one  whom  he  had  always  venerated,  and, 
at  this  distance  of  time  might  add,  had  admired,  he  ven- 
tured to  offer  a  suggestion :  to  wit,  That  a  number  of 
unnecessary  out-buildings  should  be  torn  down  and 
utterly  effaced  before  a  new  rector  was  nominated,  and 


78  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

had  appointed  a  valuer;  also  that  certain  obvious  re- 
pairs should  be  undertaken  and  done  at  once,  so  as  to 
give  to  the  parsonage  the  appearance  of  being  in  excel- 
lent order,  and  cut  away  all  excuse  for  piling  up  dilapi- 
dations. Mr.  Scantlebray  ventured  humbly  to  state  that 
he  had  had  a  good  deal  of  experience  with  those  gentle- 
men who  acted  as  valuers  for  dilapidations,  and  with 
pain  he  was*obliged  to  add  that  a  more  unscrupulous 
set  of  men  it  had  never  been  his  bad  fortune  to  come 
into  contact  with.  He  ventured  to  assert  that,  were  he 
to  tell  all  he  knew,  or  only  half  of  what  he  knew,  as  to 
their  proceedings  in  valuing  for  dilapidations,  he  would 
make  both  of  Miss  Trevisa's  ears  tingle. 

At  once  Miss  Dionysia  entreated  Mr.  Scantlebray  to 
superintend  and  carry  out  with  expedition  such  repairs 
and  such  demolitions  as  he  deemed  expedient,  so  as  to 
forestall  the  other  party. 

"Chicken!"  said  Mr.  Cargreen.  "That's  what  I've 
brought  for  my  lunch." 

"  And  'am  is  what  I've  got,"  said  Mr.  Scantlebray. 
"  They'll  go  lovely  together."  Then,  in  a  loud  tone — 
"Come  in!" 

The  door  opened,  and  a  carpenter  entered  with  a  piece 
of  deal  board  in  his  hand. 

"  You  won't  mind  looking  out  of  the  winder,  Mr.  Car- 
green  ?  "  said  Mr.  Scantlebray.  "  Some  business  that's 
partick'ler  my  own.  You'll  find  the  jessamine — the 
white  jessamine — smells  beautiful." 

Mr.  Cargreen  rose,  and  went  to  the  dining-room  win- 
dow that  was  embowered  in  white  jessamine,  then  in  full 
flower  and  fragrance. 

"What  is  it,  Davy?" 

"  Well,  sir,  I  ain't  got  no  dry  old  board  for  the  floor 
where  it  be  rotten,  nor  for  the  panelling  of  the  doors 
where  broken  through." 

"No  board  at  all?" 

"  No,  sir — all  is  green.     Only  cut  last  winter." 

"  Won't  it  take  paint  <?  " 

"Well,  sir,  not  well.  I've  dried  this  piece  by  the 
kitchen  fire,  and  I  find  it'll  take  the  paint  for  a  time." 

"  Run,  dry  all  the  panels  at  the  kitchen  fire,  and  then 
paint  'em." 

"Thanky',  sir;  but  how  about  the  boarding  of  the 
floor  ?  The  boards'll  warp  and  start." 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  79 

"  Look  here,  Davy,  that  gentleman  who's  at  the  winder 
a-smelling  to  the  jassamine  is  the  surveyor  and  valuer  to 
t'other  party.  I  fancy  you'd  best  go  round  outside  and 
have  a  word  with  him  and  coax  him  to  pass  the  boards." 

"  Come  in  !  "  in  a  loud  voice.  Then  there  entered  a 
man  in  a  cloth  coat,  with  very  bushy  whiskers.  "  How 
d'y'  do,  Spargo  ?  What  do  you  want  ? " 

"  Well,  Mr.  ^cantlebray,  I  understand  the  linney  and 
cow-shed  is  to  be  pulled  down." 

"  So  it  is,  Spargo." 

"Well,  sir!"     Sir.  Spargo  drew  his  sleeve  across  his- 
mouth.     "  There's  a  lot  of  very  fine  oak  timber  in  it — 
beams,  and  such  like — that  I  don't  mind  buying.     As  a 
timber  merchant  I  could  find  a  use  for  it." 

'  Say  ten  pound." 
Ten  pun' !     That's  a  long  figure  !  " 

'  Not  a  pound  too  much  ;  but  come — we'll  say  eight." 

'  I  reckon  I'd  thought  five." 

'  Five  !   pshaw  !    It's  dirt  cheap  to  you  at  eight." 

'  Why  to  me,  sir  ?  " 

'  Why,  because  the  new  rector  will  want  to  rebuild 
both  cattle-shed  and  linney,  and  he'll  have  to  go  to  you 
for  timber." 

"  But  suppose  he  don't,  and  cuts  down  some  on  the 
glebe !  " 

"  No,  Spargo — not  a  bit.  There  at  the  winder,  smell- 
ing to  the  jessamine,  is  the  new  rector's  adviser  and 
agent.  Go  round  by  the  front  door  into  the  garding, 
and  say  a  word  to  him — you  understand,  and — '  Mr. 
Scantlebray  tapped  his  palm.  "  Do  now  go  round  and 
have  a  sniff  of  the  jessamine,  Mr.  Spargo,  and  I  don't 
fancy  Mr.  Cargreen  will  advise  the  rector  to  use  home- 
grown timber.  He'll  tell  him  it  sleeps  away,  gets  the 
rot,  comes  more  expensive  in  the  long  run." 

The  valuer  took  a  wing  of  chicken  and  a  little  ham, 
and  then  shouted,  with  his  mouth  full — "  Come  in !  " 

The  door  opened  and  admitted  a  farmer. 

"  How  do,  Mr.  Joshua  ?  middlin'  ?  " 

"  Middlin',  sir,  thanky'." 

"  And  what  have  you  come  about,  sir  ?  " 

"  Well — Mr.  Scantlebray,  sir !  I  fancy  you  ha'n't  of- 
fered me  quite  enough  for  carting  away  of  all  the  rum- 
mage from  them  buildings  as  is  coming  down.  'Tis  a 
terrible  lot  of  stone,  and  I'm  to  take  'em  so  far  away." 


80  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  it's  such  a  lot  of  work  for  the  bosses,  and 
the  pay  so  poor." 

"  Not  a  morsel,  Joshua — not  a  morsel." 

"  Well,  sir,  I  can't  do  it  at  the  price." 

"  Oh,  Joshua !  Joshua !  I  thought  you'd  a  better  eye 
to  the  future.  Don't  you  see  that  the  new  rector  will 
have  to  build  up  all  these  out-buildings  again,  and  where 
else  is  he  to  get  stone  except  out  of  your  quarry,  or  some 
of  the  old  stone  you  have  carted  away,  which  you  will 
have  the  labor  of  carting  back  ? " 

"  Well,  sir,  I  don't  know." 

"  But  I  do,  Joshua." 

"  The  new  rector  might  go  elsewhere  for  stone." 

"Not  he.  Look  there,  at  the  winder  is  Mr.  Car- 
green,  and  he's  in  with  the  new  parson,  like  a  brother — 
knows  his  very  soul.  The  new  parson  comes  from  Bir- 
mingham. What  can  he  tell  about  building-stone  here  ? 
Mr.  Cargreen  will  tell  him  yours  is  the  only  stuff  that 
ain't  powder." 

"  But,  sir,  he  may  not  rebuild." 

"  He  must.  Mr.  Cargreen  will  tell  him  that  he  can't 
let  the  glebe  without  buildings ;  and  he  can't  build 
without  your  quarry  stone :  and  if  he  has  your  quarry 
stone — why,  you  will  be  given  the  carting  also.  Are  you 
satisfied  ? " 

:'  Yes — if  Mr.  Cargreen  would  be  sure — 

"  He's  there  at  the  winder,  a-smelling  to  the  jessa- 
mine. You  go  round  and  have  a  talk  to  him,  and  make 
him  understand — you  know.  He's  a  little  hard  o'  hearing ; 
but  the  drum  o'  his  ear  is  here,"  said  Scantlebray,  tap- 
ping his  palm. 

Mr.  Scantlebray  was  now  left  to  himself  to  discuss  the 
chicken  wing — the  liver  wing  he  had  taken — and  sip  the 
port ;  a  conversation  was  going  on  in  an  undertone  at 
the  window ;  but  that  concerned  Mr.  Cargreen  and  not 
himself,  so  he  paid  no  attention  to  it. 

After  a  while,  however,  when  this  hum  ceased,  he 
turned  his  head,  and  called  out : 

"  Old  man !  how  about  your  lunch  ?  " 

"  I'm  coming." 

"  And  you  found  the  jessamine  very  sweet "? " 

"  Beautiful !  beautiful !  " 

"  Taste  this  port.    It  is  not  what  it  should  be :  some 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  81 

the  old  fellow  laid  in  when  he  could  afford  it — before  he 
married.  It  is  passed,  and  going-  back ;  should  have 
been  drunk  five  years  ago." 

Mr.  Cargreen  came  to  the  table,  and  seated  himself. 
Then  Mr.  Scantlebray  flapped  his  arms,  shook  out  his 
legs,  and  settled  himself  to  the  enjoyment  of  the  lunch, 
in  the  society  of  Mr.  Cargreen. 

"  The  merry-thought !     Pull  with  me,  old  man  ?  " 

"  Certainly ! " 

Mr.  Scantlebray  and  Mr.  Cargreen  were  engaged  on 
the  merry-thought,  each  endeavoring  to  steal  an  advan- 
tage 011  the  other,  by  working  the  fingers  up  the  bone 
unduly,  when  the  window  was  darkened. 

Without  desisting  from  pulling  at  the  merry-thought 
each  turned  his  head,  and  Scaiitlebray  at  once  let  go  his 
end  of  the  bone.  At  the  window  stood  Captain  Cop- 
pinger  looking  in  at  the  couple,  with  his  elbow  resting 
on  the  window-sill. 

Mr.  Scaiitlebray  flattered  himself  that  he  was  on  good 
terms  with  all  the  world,  and  he  at  once  with  hilarity  sa- 
luted the  Captain  by  raising  the  fingers  greased  by  the 
bone  to  his  brow. 

"  Didn't  reckon  on  seeing  you  here,  Cap'n." 

"  I  suppose  not." 

"  Come  and  pick  a  bone  with  us  ?  " 

Coppinger  laughed  a  short  snort  through  his  nostrils. 

"I  have  a  bone  to  pick  with  you  already." 

"  Never  !  no,  never !  " 

"  You  have  forced  yourself  on  Miss  Trevisa  to  act  as 
her  agent  and  valuer  in  the  matter  of  dilapidations." 

"  Not  forced,  Captain.  She  asked  me  to  give  her 
friendly  counsel.  We  are  old  acquaintances." 

"  I  will  not  waste  words.  Give  me  her  letter.  She  no 
longer  requires  your  advice  and  counsel.  I  am  going  to 
act  for  her." 

"  You,  Cap'n !  Lor'  bless  me !  You  don't  mean  to 
say  so ! " 

"Yes.  I  will  protect  her  against  being  pillaged. 
She  is  my  housekeeper." 

"  But  see  !  she  is  only  executrix.  She  gets  nothing 
out  of  the  property." 

"  No — but  her  niece  and  nephew  do.  Take  it  that  I 
act  for  them.  Give  me  up  her  letter." 

Mr.  Scantlebray  hesitated. 


82  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

"  But,  Cap'n,  I've  been  to  vast  expense.  I've  entered 
into  agreements — 

"With  whom?" 

"  With  carpenter  and  mason  about  the  repairs." 

"  Give  me  the  agreements." 

"  Not  agreements  exactly.  They  sent  me  in  their 
estimates,  and  I  accepted  them,  and  set  them  to  work." 

"  Give  me  the  estimates." 

Mr.  Scantlebray  flapped  all  his  limbs,  and  shook  his 
head. 

"  You  don't  suppose  I  carry  these  sort  of  things  about 
with  me  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  doubt  whatever  they  are  in  your  pocket." 
Scantlebray  fidgeted. 

"  Cap'n,  try  this  port — a  little  going  back,  but  not  to 
be  sneezed  at." 

Coppinger  leaned  forward  through  the  window. 

"  Who  is  that  man  with  you  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Cargreen." 

"  What  is~he  here  for  ?  " 

"  I  am  agent  for  the  Reverend  Mules,  the  newly  ap- 
pointed rector,"  said  Mr.  Cargreen,  with  some  dignity. 

"Then  I  request  you  both  to  step  to  the  window  to  me." 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other.  Scantlebray 
jumped  up,  and  Cargreen  followed.  They  stood  in  the 
window-bay  at  a  respectful  distance  from  Cruel  Coppin- 
ger. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  who  I  am  ?  "  said  the  latter,  fix- 
ing his  eyes  on  Cargreen. 

"  I  believe  I  can  form  a  guess." 

"  And  your  duty  to  your  client  is  to  make  out  as  bad 
a  case  as  you  can  against  the  two  children.  They  have 
had  just  one  thousand  pounds  left  them.  You  are  going 
to  get  as  much  of  that  away  from  them  as  you  are  per- 
mitted." 

"  My  good  sir — allow  me  to  explain — 

"  There  is  no  need,"  said  Coppinger.  "  Suffice  it  that 
you  are  one  side.  I — Cruel  Coppinger — on  the  other. 
Do  you  understand  what  that  means  1 " 

Mr.  Cargreen  became  alarmed,  his  face  became  very 
blank. 

"  I  am  not  a  man  to  waste  words.  I  am  not  a  man  that 
many  in  Cornwall  would  care  to  have  as  an  adversary. 
Do  you  ever  travel  at  night,  Mr.  Cargreen  1 " 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  83 

"  Yes,  sir,  sometimes." 

"  Through  the  lanes  and  along  the  lonely  roads  1 " 

"  Perhaps,  sir — now  and  then." 

te  So  do  I,"  said  Coppinger.  He  drew  a  pistol  from  his 
pocket,  and  played  with  it.  The  two  "  dilapidators " 
shrank  back.  "  So  do  I,"  said  Coppinger  ;  "  but  I  never 
go  unarmed.  I  would  advise  you  to  do  the  same — if  you 
are  my  adversary." 

"  I  hope,  Captain,  that — that— 

"  If  those  children  suffer  through  you  more  than  what 
I  allow  " — Coppinger  drew  up  his  one  shoulder  that  he 
could  move — "  I  should  advise  you  to  consider  what  Mrs. 
Cargreen  will  have  to  live  on  when  a  widow."  Then  he 
turned  to  Scantlebray,  who  was  sneaking  behind  the 
window-curtain. 

"  Miss  Tre visa's  letter,  authorizing  you  to  act  for 
her  ?  " 

Scantlebray,  with  shaking  hand,  groped  for  his  pocket- 
book. 

"  And  the  two  agreements  or  estimates  you  signed." 

Scantlebray  gave  him  the  letter. 

"  The  agreements  also." 

Nervously  the  surveyor  groped  again,  and  reluctantly 

E reduced  them.  Captain  Coppinger  opened  them  with 
is  available  hand. 

"  What  is  this  1  Five  pounds  in  pencil  added  to  each, 
and  then  summed  up  in  the  total  ?  What  is  the  mean- 
ing of  that,  pray  ?  " 

Mr.  Scantlebray  again  endeavored  to  disappear  behind 
the  curtain. 

"  Come  forward !  "  shouted  Captain  Cruel,  striking  the 
window-sill  with  the  pistol. 

Scantlebray  jumped  out  of  his  retreat  at  once. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  these  two  five  pounds  ?  " 

"Well,  sir — Captain — it  is  usual;  every  one  does  it. 
It  is  my — what  d'y'  call  it  ?— ^-consideration  for  accepting 
the  estimates." 

"  And  added  to  each,  and  then  charged  to  the  orphans, 
who  pay  you  to  act  in  their  interest — so  they  pay  wit- 
tingly, directly,  and  unwittingly,  indirectly.  Well  for 
you  and  for  Mrs.  Scantlebray  that  I  release  you  of  your 
obligation  to  act  for  Mother  Dunes — I  mean  Miss  Tre- 
visa." 

"  Sir,"  said  Cargreen,  "  under  the  circumstances,  under 


84  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

intimidation,  I  decline  to  sully  my  fingers  with  the  busi- 
ness. I  shall  withdraw." 

"  No,  you  shall  not,"  said  Cruel  Coppiriger,  resolutely. 
"  You  shall  act,  and  act  as  I  approve  ;  and  in  the  end  it 
shall  not  be  to  your  disadvantage." 

Then,  without  a  word  of  farewell,  he  stood  up,  slipped 
the  pistol  back  into  his  pocket,  and  strode  away. 

Mr.  Cargreen  had  become  white,  or  rather,  the  color  of 
dough.  After  a  moment  he  recovered  himself  somewhat, 
and,  turning  to  Scantlebray,  \vith  a  sarcastic  air,  said — 

"  I  hope  you  enjoy  the  jessamine.  They  don't  smell 
particularly  sweet  to  me." 

"  Orful !  "  groaned  Scantlebray.  He  shook  himself— 
almost  shaking  off  all  his  limbs  in  the  convulsion — "  Old 
man — them  jessamines  is  orful !  " 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  CAVE. 

Some  weeks  slipped  by  without  bringing  to  Judith 
any  accession  of  anxiety.  She  did  not  go  again  to  Pen- 
tyre  Glaze,  but  her  aunt  came  once  or  twice  in  the  week 
to  Polzeath  to  see  her.  Moreover,  Miss  Dionysia's  man- 
ner toward  her  was  somewhat  less  contrary  and  vexatious, 
and  she  seemed  to  put  on  a  conciliatory  manner,  as  far  as 
was  possible  for  one  so  angular  and  crabbed.  Gracious 
she  could  not  be ;  nature  had  made  it  as  impossible  for 
her  to  be  gracious  in  manner  as  to  be  lovely  in  face  and 
graceful  in  movement. 

Moreover,  Judith  observed  that  her  aunt  looked  at  her 
with  an  expression  of  perplexity,  as  though  seeking  in 
her  to  find  an  answer  to  a  riddle  that  vexed  her  brain. 
And  so  it  was.  Aunt  Dunes  could,  not  understand  the 
conduct  of  Coppinger  toward  Judith  and  her  brother. 
Nor  could  she  understand  how  a  child  like  her  niece  could 
have  faced  and  defied  a  man  of  whom  she  herself  stood 
in  abject  fear.  Judith  had  behaved  to  the  smuggler  in 
a  way  that  no  man  in  the  whole  country-side  would  have 
ventured  to  behave.  She  had  thrown  him  at  her  feet, 
half  killed,  him,  and  yet  Cruel  Coppinger  did  not  resent 
what  had  been  done ;  on  the  contrary,  he  went  out  of  his 
way  to  interfere  in  the  interest  of  the  orphans.  He  was 
not  the  man  to  concern  himself  in  other  people's  affairs ; 
why  should  he  take  trouble  on  behalf  of  Judith  and  her 
brother  I  That  he  did  it  out  of  consideration  for  herself, 
Miss  Trevisa  had  not  the  assurance  to  believe. 

Aunt  Dunes  put  a  few  searching  questions  to  Judith, 
but  drew  from  her  nothing  that  explained  the  mystery. 
The  girl  frankly  told  her  of  her  visit  to  the  Glaze  and 
interview  with  the  crippled  smuggler,  of  his  offer  to  her 
of  some  of  his  spoil,  and  of  her  refusal  to  receive  a  pres- 
ent from  him.  Miss  Trevisa  approved  of  her  niece's 
conduct  in  this  respect.  It  would  not  have  befitted  her 


86  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

to  accept  anything1.  Judith,  however,  did  not  communi- 
cate to  her  aunt  the  closing  scene  in  that  interview.  She 
did  not  tell  her  that  Coppinger  had  kissed  her  hand,  nor 
his  excuse  for  having-  done  so,  that  he  was  offering  hom- 
age to  a  queen. 

For  one  thing1,  Judith  did  not  attach  any  importance 
to  this  incident.  .She  had  always  heard  that  Coppinger 
was  a  wild  and  insolent  man,  wild  and  insolent  in  his 
dealings  with  his  fellow-men,  therefore  doubtless  still 
more  so  in  his  treatment  of  defenceless  women.  He  had 
behaved  to  her  in  the  rude  manner  in  which  he  would 
behave  to  any  peasant  girl  or  sailor's  daughter  who 
caught  his  fancy,  and  she  resented  his  act  as  an  indig-- 
nity,  and  his  excuse  for  it  as  a  prevarication.  And,  pre- 
cisely, because  he  had  offended  her  maidenly  dignity, 
she  blushed  to  mention  it,  even  to  her  aunt,  resolving  in 
her  own  mind  not  to  subject  herself  to  the  like  again. 

Miss  Trevisa,  on  several  occasions,  invited  Judith  to 
come  and  see  her  at  Pentyre  Glaze,  but  the  girl  always 
declined  the  invitation. 

Judith's  estimate  of  Cruel  Coppinger  was  modified. 
He  could  not  be  the  utter  reprobate  she  had  always  held 
him  to  be.  She  fully  acknowledged  that  there  was  an 
element  of  g-ood  in  the  man,  otherwise  he  would  not  have 
forgiven  the  injury  done  him,  nor  would  he  have  inter- 
fered to  protect  her  and  Jamie  from  the  fraud  and  extor- 
tion of  the  "  dilapidators."  She  trusted  that  the  stories 
she  had  heard  of  Coppinger's  wild  and  savage  acts  were 
false,  or  overcolored.  Her  dear  father  had  been  misled 
by  reports,  as  she"  had  been,  and  it  was  possible  that 
Coppinger  had  not  really  been  the  impediment  in  her 
father's  way  that  the  late  rector  had  supposed. 

Jamie  was  happy.  He  was  even,  in  a  fashion,  making- 
himself  useful.  He  helped  Mr.  Menaida  in  his  bird- 
stuffing-  on  rainy  days ;  he  did  more,  he  ran  about  the 
cliffs,  learned  the  haunts  of  the  wild-fowl,  ascertained 
where  they  nested,  made  friends  with  Preventive  men, 
and  some  of  those  fellows  living  on  shore,  without  any 
very  fixed  business,  who  rambled  over  the  country  with 
their  guns,  and  from  these  he  was  able  to  obtain  birds 
that  he  believed  Mr.  Menaida  wanted.  Judith  was  glad 
that  the  boy  should  be  content,  and  enjoy  the  fresh  air 
and  some  freedom.  She  would  have  been  less  pleased 
had  she  seen  the  companions  Jamie  made.  But  the  men 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  87 

had  rough  good-humor,  and  were  willing-  to  oblige  the 
half-witted  boy,  and  they  encouraged  him  to  go  with 
them  shooting,  or  to  sit  with  them  in  their  huts. 

Jamie  manifested  so  strong  a  distaste  for  books,  and 
lesson  time  being  one  of  resistance,  pouting,  tears,  and 
failures,  that  Judith  thought  it  not  amiss  to  put  off  the 
resumption  of  these  irksome  tasks  for  a  little  while,  and 
to  let  the  boy  have  his  run  of  holidays.  She  fancied  that 
the  loss  of  his  father  and  of  his  old  home  preyed  on  him 
more  than  was  actually  the  case;  and  believed  that  by 
giving  him  freedom  till  the  first  pangs  were  over,  he 
might  not  suffer  in  the  way  that  she  had  done. 

For  a  fortnight  or  three  weeks  Judith's  time  had  been 
so  fully  engaged  at  the  parsonage,  that  she  could  not 
have  devoted  much  of  it  to  Jamie,  even  had  she  thought 
it  desirable  to  keep  him  to  his  lessons ;  nor  could  she 
be  with  him  much.  She  did  not  press  him  to  accompany 
her  to  the  rectory,  there  to  spend  the  time  that  she  was 
engaged  sorting  her  father's  letters  and  memoranda,  his 
account-books  and  collection  of  extracts  made  from  vol- 
umes he  had  borrowed,  as  not  only  would  it  be  tedious 
to  him,  but  he  would  distract  her  mind.  She  must  see 
that  he  was  amused,  and  must  also  provide  that  he  was 
not  at  mischief.  She  did  take  him  with  her  on  one  or 
two  occasions,  and  found  that  he  had  occupied  himself  in 
disarranging  much  that  she  had  put  together  for  the  sale. 

But  she  would  not  allow  him  wholly  to  get  out  of  the 
way  of  looking  to  her  as  his  companion,  and  she  aban- 
doned an  afternoon  to  him  now  and  then,  as  her  work 
became  less  arduous,  to  walk  with  him  on  the  cliffs  or  in 
the  lanes,  to  listen  to  his  childish  prattle,  and  throw  her- 
self into  his  new  pursuits.  The  link  between  them  must 
not  be  allowed  to  become  relaxed,  and,  so  far  as  in  her 
lay,  she  did  her  utmost  to  maintain  it  in  its  former  se- 
curity. But,  with  his  father's  death,  and  his  removal  to 
Mr.  Menaida's  cottage,  a  new  world  had  opened  to  Jamie ; 
he  was  brought  into  association  with  men  and  boys  whom 
he  had  hardly  known  by  sight  previously,  and  without 
any  wish  to  disengage  himself  from  his  sister's  author- 
ity, he  was  led  to  look  to  others  as  comrades,  and  to  lis- 
ten to  and  follow  their  promptings. 

"  Come,  Jamie,"  said  Judith,  one  day.  "  Now  I  really 
have  some  hours  free,  and  I  will  go  a  stroll  with  you  on 
the  downs." 


88  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

The  boy  jumped  with  pleasure,  and  caught  her  hand. 

"I  may  take  Tib  with  me  1 " 

"  Oh  yes,  certainly,  dear." 

Tib  was  a  puppy  that  had  been  given  to  Jamie  by  one 
of  his  new  acquaintances. 

The  day  was  fresh.  Clouds  driving  before  the  wind, 
now  obscuring  the  sun  and  threatening  rain,  then  clear- 
ing and  allowing  the  sun  to  turn  the  sea  green  and  gild 
the  land.  Owing  to  the  breeze  the  sea  was  ruffled  and 
strewn  with  breakers  shaking  their  white  foam. 

"  I  am  going  to  show  you  something  I  have  found, 
Ju,"  said  the  boy.  "  You  will  follow,  will  you  not  ?  " 

"Lead  the  way.     What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Come  and  see.  I  found  it  by  myself.  I  shan't  tell 
any  one  but  you." 

He  conducted  his  sister  down  the  cliffs  to  the  beach 
of  a  cove.  Judith  halted  a  moment  to  look  along  the 
coast  with  its  mighty,  sombre  cliffs,  and  the  sea  glancing 
with  sun  or  dulled  by  shadow  to  Tintagel  Head  stand- 
ing up  at  the  extreme  point  to  the  northeast,  with  the 
white  surf  lashing  and  heaving  around  it.  Then  she 
drew  her  skirts  together,  and  descended  by  the  narrow 
path  along  which,  with  the  lightness  and  confidence  of 
a  kid,  Jamie  was  skipping. 

"Jamie!"  she  said.  "Have  you  seen  ?— there  is  a 
ship  standing  in  the  offing." 

"  Yes ;  she  has  been  there  all  the  morning." 

Then  she  went  further. 

The  cove  was  small,  with  precipitous  cliffs  rising  from 
the  sand  to  the  height  of  two  to  three  hundred  feet. 
The  seagulls  screamed  and  flashed  to  and  fro,  and  the 
waves  foamed  and  threw  up  their  waters  lashed  into 
froth  as  white  and  light  as  the  feathers  on  the  gulls.  In 
the  concave  bay  the  roar  of  the  plunging  tide  reverber- 
ated from  every  side.  Neither  the  voice  of  Jamie,  when 
he  shouted  to  his  sister  from  some  feet  below,  nor  the 
barking  of  his  little  dog  that  ran  with  him,  could  be  dis- 
tinguished by  her. 

The  descent  was  rapid  and  rugged,  yet  not  so  pre- 
cipitous but  that  it  could  be  gone  over  by  asses  or  mules. 
Evidence  that  these  creatures  had  passed  that  way  re- 
mained in  the  impression  of  their  hoofs  in  the  soil,  wher- 
ever a  soft  stratum  intervened  between  the  harder  shelves 
of  the  rock,  and  had  crumbled  on  the  path  into  clay. 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  89 

Judith  observed  that  several  paths — not  all  mule-paths 
— converged  lower  down  at  intervals  in  the  way  by 
which  she*  descended,  so  that  it  would  be  possible,  ap- 
parently, to  reach  the  sand  from  various  points  in  the 
clown,  as  well  as  by  the  main  track  by  which  she  was 
stepping-  to  the  beach. 

"  Jamie ! "  called  Judith,  as  she  stood  on  the  last 
shoulder  of  rock  before  reaching  the  beach  over  a  wave- 
washed  and  smoothed  surface.  "  Jamie !  I  can  see  that 
same  ship  from  here." 

But  her  brother  could  not  hear  her.  He  was  throwing 
stones  for  the  dog  to  run  after,  and  meet  a  wave  as  it 
rushed  in. 

The  tide  was  going  out :  it  had  marked  its  highest 
elevation  by  a  bow  of  foam  and  strips  of  dark  seaweed 
and  broken  shells.  Judith  stepped  along  this  line,  and 
picked  out  the  largest  ribbon  of  weed  she  could  find. 
She  would  hang  it  in  her  bedroom  to  tell  her  the 
weather.  The  piece  that  had  been  wont  to  act  as  ba- 
rometer was  old,  and,  besides,  it  had  been  lost  in  the 
recent  shift  and  confusion. 

Jamie  came'  up  to  her. 

"  Now,  Ju,  mind  and  watch  me,  or  you  will  lose  me 
altogether." 

Then  he  ran  forward,  with  Tib  dancing  and  yelping 
round  him.  Presently  he  scrambled  up  a  shelf  of  rock 
inclined  from  the  sea,  and  up  after  him,  yelping,  scram- 
bled Tib.  In  a  moment  both  disappeared  over  the 
crest. 

Judith  went  up  to  the  ridge  and  called  to  her  brother. 

"  I  cannot  climb  this,  Jamie." 

But  in  another  moment,  a  hundred  yards  to  her  right, 
round  the  extremity  of  the  reef,  came  Tib  and  his  mas- 
ter, the  boy  dancing  and  laughing,  the  dog  ducking  his 
head,  shaking  his  ears,  and,  all  but  laughing  also,  evi- 
dently enjoying  the  fun  as  much  as  Jamie. 

"  This  way,  Ju !  "  shouted  the  boy,  and  signed  to  his 
sister.  She  could  not  hear  his  voice,  but  obeyed  his 
gestures.  The  reef  ran  athwart  the  top  of  the  bay,  like 
the  dorsal,  jagged  ridge  of  a  crocodile  half  buried  in  the 
sand. 

Judith  drew  her  skirts  higher  and  closer,  as  the  sand 
was  wet,  and  there  were  pools  by  the  rock.  Then,  hold- 
ing her  ribbon  of  seaweed  by  the  harsh,  knotted  root, 


90  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

torn  up  along-  with  the  leaf,  and  trailing-  it  behind  her, 
she  followed  her  brother,  reached  the  end  of  the  rock, 
turned  and  went  in  the  traces  of  Jamie  and  Tib  in  the 
sand  parallel  to  her  former  course. 

Suddenly,  and  quite  unexpectedly,  on  the  rig-lit  hand 
there  opened  before  her,  in  the  face  of  the  cliff,  a  cave, 
the  entrance  to  which  was  completely  masked  by  the 
ridge  she  had  turned.  Into  this  cave  went  Jamie  with 
his  dog-. 

"  I  am  not  obliged  to  follow  you  there !  "  protested 
Judith ;  but  he  made  such  vehement  signs  to  her  to  fol- 
low him  that  she  good-humoredly  obeyed. 

The  cave  ran  in  a  long  way,  at  first  at  no  great  incline, 
then  it  became  low  overhead,  and  immediately  after 
the  floor  inclined  rapidly  upward,  and  the  vault  took 
a  like  direction.  Moreover,  light  appeared  in  front. 
Here,  to  Judith's  surprise,  she  saw  a  large  boat,  painted 
gray,  furnished  with  oars  and  boat-hook.  She  was  at- 
tached by  a  chain  to  a  staple  in  the  rock.  Judith  exam- 
ined her  with  a  little  uneasiness.  No  name  was  on  her. 

The  sides  of  the  cave  at  this  point  formed  shelves,  not 
altogether  natural,  and  that  these  were  made  use  of  was 
evident,  because  on  them  lay  staves  of  broken  casks,  a 
four-flanged  boat-anchor,  and  some  oars.  Out  of  the 
main  trunk  cave  branched  another  that  was  quite  dark, 
and  smaller ;  in  this,  Judith,  whose  eyes  were  becoming 
accustomed  to  the  twilight,  thought  she  saw  the  bows  of 
a  smaller  boat,  also  painted  gray. 

"  Jamie  ! "  said  Judith,  now  in  serious  alarm ;  "  we 
ought  not  to  be  here.  It  is  not  safe.  Do — do  come 
away  at  once." 

"  Why,  what  is  there  to  harm  us  ?  " 

"  My  dear,  do  come  away."  She  turned  to  retrace  her 
steps,  but  Jamie  stopped  her. 

"  Not  that  way,  Ju !  I  have  another  by  which  to  get 
out.  Follow  me  still." 

He  led  the  way  up  the  steep  rubble  slope,  and  the 
light  fell  fuller  from  above.  The  cave  was  one  of  those 
into  which  when  the  sea  rolls  and  chokes  the  entrance, 
the  compressed  air  is  driven  out  by  a  second  orifice. 

They  reached  a  sort  of  well  or  shaft,  at  the  bottom  of 
which  they  stood,  but  it  did  not  open  vertically  but 
bent  over  somewhat,  so  that  from  below  the  sky  could 
not  be  seen,  though  the  light  entered.  A  narrow  path 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  91 

was  traced  in  the  side,  and  up  this  Jamie  and  the  dog- 
scrambled,  followed  by  Judith,  who  was  most  anxious  to 
escape  from  a  place  which  she  had  110  doubt  was  one  of 
the  shelter  caves  of  the  smugglers — perhaps  of  Cruel 
Coppinger,  whose  house  was  not  a  mile  distant. 

The  ascent  was  steep,  the  path  slippery  in  places,  and 
therefore  dangerous.  Jamie  made  nothing  of  it,  nor  did 
the  little  dog,  but  Judith  picked  her  way  with  care ;  she 
had  a  good  steady  head,  and  did  not  feel  giddy,  but  she 
was  not  sure  that  her  feet  might 'not  slide  in  the  clay 
where  wet  with  water  that  dripped  from  the  sides.  As 
she  neared  the  entrance  she  saw  that  hartstongue  and 
maidenhair  fern  had  rooted  themselves  in  the  sheltered 
nooks  of  this  tunnel. 

After  a  climb  of  a  hundred  feet  she  came  out  on  a 
ledge  in  the  face  of  the  cliff  above  the  bay,  to  see,  with 
a  gasp  of  dismay,  her  brother  in  the  hand  of  Cruel  Cop- 
pinger, the  boy  paralyzed  with  fear  so  that  he  could 
neither  stir  nor  cry  out. 

"What!"  exclaimed  the  Captain,  "you  here?"  as  he 
saw  Judith  stand  before  him. 

The  puppy  was  barking  and  snapping  at  his  boots. 
Coppinger  let  go  Jamie,  stooped  and  caught  the  dog  by 
the  neck.  "  Look  at  me,"  said  the  smuggler  sternly, 
addressing  the  frightened  boy.  Then  he  swung  the  clog 
above  his  head  and  dashed  it  down  the  cliffs ;  it  caught, 
then  rolled,  and  fell  out  of  sight — certainly  with  the  life 
beaten  out  of  it. 

"  This  will  be  done  to  you,"  said  he ;  "  I  do  not  say 
that  I  would  do  it.  She  " — he  waved  his  hand  toward 
Judith — "  stands  between  us.  But  if  any  of  the  fifteen 
to  twenty  men  who  know  this  place  and  come  here 
should  chance  to  meet  you  as  I  have  met  you,  he  would 
treat  you  without  compunction  as  I  have  treated  that 
dog.  And  if  he  were  to  catch  you  below — you  have 
heard  of  Wyvill,  the  Preventive  man  ? — you  would  fare 
as  did  he.  Thank  your  sister  that  you  are  alive  now. 
Go  on — that  way — up  the  cliff."  He  pointed  with  a 
telescope  he  held. 

Jamie  fled  up  the  steep  path  like  the  wind. 

"Judith,"  said  Coppinger,  "will  you  stand  surety  that 
lie  does  not  tell  tales  1 " 

"  I  do  not  believe  he  will  say  anything." 

"  I  do  not  ask  you  to  be  silent.    I  know  you  will  not 


92  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

speak.  But  if  you  mistrust  his  power  to  hold  his 
tongue,  send  him  away — send  him  out  of  the  country — 
as  you  love  him." 

"He  shall  never  come  here  again,"  said  Judith, 
earnestly. 

"  That  is  well ;  he  owes  his  life  to  you." 

Judith  noticed  that  Cruel  Coppinger's  left  arm  was  no 
more  in  a  sling,  nor  in  bands. 

He  saw  that  she  observed  this,  and  smiled  grimly.  "  I 
have  my  freedom  with  this  arm  once  more — for  the  first 
time  to-day." 


CHAPTEK  XIII. 

IN  THE  DUSK. 

"  Kicking  along,  Mr.  Menaida,  old  man  ? "  asked  Mr. 
Scantlebray,  in  his  loud,  harsh  voice,  as  he  shook  him- 
self inside  the  door  of  Uncle  Zachie's  workshop.  "  And 
the  little  'uns  ?  Late  in  life  to  become  nurse  and  keep 
the  bottle  and  pap-bowl  going,  eh,  old  man  ?  How's  the 
orphings  ?  Eating-  their  own  weight  of  victuals  at  two- 
pence-ha'penny a  head,  eh  ?  My  experience  of  orphings 
isn't  such  as  would  make  a  man  hilarious,  and  feel  that 
he  was  filling  his  pockets." 

"  Sit  you  down,  sir ;  you'll  find  a  chair.  Not  that  one, 
there's  a  dab  of  arsenical  paste  got  on  to  that.  Sit  you 
down,  sir,  over  against  me.  Glad  to  see  you  and  have 
some  one  to  talk  to.  Here  am  I  slaving  all  day,  worn  to 
fiddlestrings.  There's  Squire  Rashleigh,  of  Menabilly, 
must  have  a  glaucous  gull  stuffed  at  once  that  he  has 
shot ;  and  there's  Sir  John  St.  Aubyn,  of  Clowance,  must 
have  a  case  of  kittiwakes  by  a  certain  day ;  and  an  in- 
stitution in  London  wants  a  genuine  specimen  of  a  Cor- 
nish chough  ?  Do  they  think  I'm  a  tradesman  to  be 
ordered  about  ?  That  I've  not  an  income  of  my  own, 
and  that  I  am  dependent  on  my  customers  ?  I'll  do  no 
more.  I'll  smoke  and  play  the  piano.  I've  no  time  to 
exchange  a  word  with  any  one.  Come,  sit  down.  What's 
the  news  ? " 

"It's  a  bad  world,"  said  Mr.  Scantlebray,  setting  him- 
self into  a  chair.  "That's  to  say,  the  world  is  well 
enough  if  it  warn't  for  there  being  too  many  rascals  in 
it.  I  consider  it's  a  duty  on  all  right-thinking  men  to 
clear  them  off." 

"  Well,  the  world  would  be  better  if  we  had  the  mak- 
ing of  it,"  acquiesced  Mr.  Menaida.  "  Bless  you !  I've 
no  time  for  anything.  I  like  to  do  a  bit  of  bird-stuffing 
just  as  a  sort  of  relaxation  after  smoking,  but  to  be 
forced  to  work  more  than  one  cares — I  won't  do  it !  Be- 


94  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

sides,  it  is  not  wholesome.  I  shall  be  poisoned  with 
arsenic.  I  must  have  some  antidote.  So  will  you,  sir 
—eh  ?  A  drop  of  real  first-rate  cognac*?  " 

"Thank  you,  sir — old  man — I  don't  mind  dipping  a 
feather  and  drawing-  it  across  my  lips." 

Jamie  had  been  so  frightened  by  the  encounter  with 
Cruel  Coppinger  that  he  was  thoroughly  upset.  He  was 
a  timid,  nervous  child,  and  Judith  had  persuaded  him 
to  go  to  bed.  She  sat  by  him,  holding  his  hand,  com- 
forting him  as  best  she  might,  when  he  sobbed  over  the 
loss  of  his  pup,  and  cheering  him  when  he  clung  to  her 
in  terror  at  the  reminiscence  of  the  threats  of  the  Cap- 
tain to  deal  with  him  as  he  had  with  Tib.  Judith  was 
under  no  apprehension  of  his  revisiting-  the  cave ;  he 
had  been  too  thoroughly  frightened  ever  to  venture 
there  again.  She  said  nothing  to  impress  this  on  him  ; 
all  her  efforts  were  directed  toward  allaying  his  alarms. 

Just  as  she  hoped  that  he  was  dropping  off  into  un- 
consciousness, he  suddenly  opened  his  eyes,  and  said, 
"  Ju." 

"Yes,  dear." 

"  I've  lost  the  chain." 

"  What  chain,  my  pretty  ? " 

"  Tib's  chain." 

The  pup  had  been  a  trouble  when  Jamie  went  with 
the  creature  through  the  village  or  through  a  farm -yard. 
He  would  run  after  and  nip  the  throats  of  chickens.  Tib 
and  his  master  had  got  into  trouble  on  this  account ; 
accordingly  Judith  had  turned  out  a  light  steel  chain, 
somewhat  rusty,  and  a  dog  collar  from  among  the  sun- 
dries that  encumbered  the  drawers  and  closets  of  the 
rectory.  This  she  had  given  to  her  brother,  and  when- 
ever the  little  dog  was  near  civilization  he  was  obliged 
to  submit  to  the  chain. 

Judith,  to  console  Jamie  for  his  loss,  had  told  him 
that  in  all  probability  another  little  dog  might  be  pro- 
cured to  be  his  companion.  Alas !  the  collar  was  on 
poor  Tib,  but  she  represented  to  him  that  if  another 
dog  were  obtained  it  would  be  possible  to  buy  or  beg  a 
collar  for  him,  supposing  a  collar  to  be  needful.  This 
had  satisfied  Jamie,  and  he  was  about  to  doze  off,  when 
suddenly  he  woke  to  say  that  the  chain  was  lost." 

"  Where  did  you  lose  the  chain,  Jamie  1 " 

"  I  threw  it  down." 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  95 

"  Why  did  you  do  that  ?" 

"  I  thought  I  shouldn't  want  it  when  Tib  was  gone." 

"  And  where  did  you  throw  it  ?  Perhaps  it  may  be 
found  again." 

"  I  won't  go  and  look  for  it  —  indeed  I  won't."  He 
shivered  and  clung  to  his  sister. 

"  Where  was  it  1     Perhaps  I  can  find  it." 

"  I  dropped  it  at  the  top — on  the  down  when  I  came 
up  the  steps  from — from  that  man,  when  he  had  killed 
Tib." 

:<  You  did  not  throw  it  over  the  cliff  ? " 

"  No — I  threw  it  down.  I  did  not  think  I  wanted  it 
any  more." 

"  I  dare  say  it  may  be  found.     I  will  go  and  see." 

"  No — no  !     Don't,  Ju.     You  might  meet  that  man." 

Judith  smiled.  She  felt  that  she  was  not  afraid  of 
that  man — he  would  not  hurt  her. 

As  soon  as  the  boy  was  asleep,  Judith  descended  the 
stairs,  leaving  the  door  ajar,  that  she  might  hear  should 
he  wake  in  a  fright,  and  entering  the  little  sitting-room, 
took  up  her  needles  and  wool,  and  seated  herself  quietly 
by  the  window,  where  the  last  glimmer  of  twilight 
shone,  to  continue  her  work  at  a  jersey  she  was  knitting 
for  Jamie's  use  in  the  winter. 

The  atmosphere  was  charged  with  tobacco-smoke,  al- 
most as  much  as  that  of  the  adjoining  workshop.  There 
was  no  door  between  the  rooms ;  none  had  been  needed 
formerly,  and  Mr.  Menaida  did  not  think  of  supplying 
one  now.  It  was  questionable  whether  one  would  have 
been  an  advantage,  as  Jamie  ran  to  and  fro,  and  would 
be  certain  either  to  leave  the  door  open  or  to  slam  it, 
should  one  be  erected.  Moreover,  a  door  meant  pay- 
ment to  a  carpenter  for  timber  and  labor.  There  was 
no  carpenter  in  the  village,  and  Mr.  Menaida  spent  no 
more  money  than  he  was  absolutely  obliged  to  spend, 
and  how  could  he  on  an  annuity  of  fifty  pounds. 

Judith  dropped  her  woolwork  in  her  lap  and  fell  into 
meditation.  She  reviewed  what  had  just  taken  place : 
she  saw  before  her  again  Coppinger,  strongly  built,  with 
his  dark  face,  and  eyes  that  glared  into  the  soul  to  its 
lowest  depths,  illumining  all,  not  as  the  sun,  but  as  the 
lightning,  and  suffering  not  a  thought,  not  a  feeling  to 
remain  obscure. 

A  second  time  had  Jamie  done  what  angered  him,  but 


96  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

on  this  occasion  lie  had  curbed  his  passion  and  had  con- 
tented himself  with  a  threat— nay,  not  even  that — with 
a  caution.  He  had  expressly  told  Jamie,  that  he  himself 
would  not  hurt  him,  but  that  he  ran  into  danger  from 
others. 

She  was  again  looking  at  Coppinger  as  he  spoke ;  she 
saw  the  changes  in  his  face,  the  alterations  of  expression 
in  his  eyes,  in  his  intonation.  She  recalled  the  stern, 
menacing  tone  in  which  he  had  spoken  to  Jamie,  and 
then  the  inflexion  of  voice  as  he  referred  to  her.  A  dim 
surmise — a  surmise  she  was  ashamed  to  allow  could  be 
true — rose  in  her  mind  and  thrilled  her  with  alarm.  Was 
it  possible  that  he  liked  her — liked — she  could,  she  would 
give  even  in  thought  no  other  term  to  describe  that  feel- 
ing which  she  feared  might  possibly  have  sprung  up  in 
his  breast.  That  he  liked  her— after  all  she  had  done  ! 
Was  that  why  he  had  come  to  the  cottage  the  day  after 
his  accident  ?  Was  that  what  had  prompted  the  strange 
note  sent  to  her  along  with  the  keg  of  spirits  to  Uncle 
Zachie  1  Was  that  the  meaning  of  the  offer  of  the  choice 
of  all  his  treasures  ? — of  the  vehemence  with  which  he 
had  seized  her  hand  and  had  kissed  it  ?  Was  that  the 
interpretation  of  those  words  of  excuse  in  which  he  had 
declared  her  his  queen  ?  If  this  were  so,  then  much  that 
had  been  enigmatical  in  his  conduct  was  explained— 
his  interference  with  the  valuers  for  dilapidations,  the 
strange  manner  in  which  he  came  across  her  path  almost 
whenever  she  went  to  the  rectory.  And  this  was  the  sig- 
nification of  the  glow  in  his  eyes,  the  quaver  in  his  voice, 
when  he  addressed  her. 

Was  it  so  ? — could  it  be  so  ? — that  he  liked  her  ? — he — 
Cruel  Coppinger—  Cruel  Coppinger  —  the  terror  of  the 
country  round— liked  her,  the  weakest  creature  that  could 
be  found  ? 

The  thought  of  such  a  possibility  frightened  her. 
That  the  wild  smuggler-captain  should  hate  her  she 
could  have  borne  with  better  than  that  he  should  like 
her.  That  she  was  conscious  of  a  sense  of  pleased  sur- 
prise, intermixed  with  fear,  was  inevitable,  for  Judith 
was  a  woman,  and  there  was  something  calculated  to 
gratify  feminine  pride  in  the  presumption  that  the  most 
lawless  and  headstrong  man  on  the  Cornish  coast  should 
have  meant  what  he  said  when  he  declared  himself  her 
subject. 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  97 

These  thoughts,  flushing-  and  paling-  her  cheek,  quick- 
ening* and  staying-  her  pulse,  so  engrossed  Judith  that, 
though  she  heard  the  voices  in  the  adjoining  apartment, 
she  paid  no  heed  to  what  was  said. 

The  wind,  which  had  been  fresh  all  day,  was  blowing 
stronger.  It  battered  at  the  window  where  Judith  sat, 
as  though  a  hand  struck  and  brushed  over  the  panes. 

"  Hot"  or  cold  ?  "  asked  Uncle  Zachie. 

"  Thariky',  neither.  Water  can  be  got  everywhere,  but 
such  brandy  as  this,  old  man — only  here." 

"  You  are  good  to  say  so.  It  is  Coppinger's  present  to 
me." 

"  Coppinger  ! — his  very  good  health,  and  may  he  lie 
in  clover  to-morrow  night.  He's  had  one  arm  bound, 
I've  seen ;  perhaps  he  may  have  two  before  the  night 
grows  much  older." 

Mr.  Menaida  raised  his  brows. 

"  I  do  not  understand  you." 

"  I  daresay  not,"  said  Scantlebray.  "  It's  the  duty  of 
all  right-minded  men  to  clear  the  world  of  rascals.  I  will 
do  my  duty,  please  the  pigs.  Would  you  mind — just 
another  drop  ?  " 

After  his  glass  had  been  refilled,  Mr.  Scantlebray 
leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  said  : 

"It's  a  wicked  world,  and,  between  you  and  me  and  the 
sugar  dissolving  at  the  bottom  of  my  glass,  you  won't 
find  more  rascality  anywhere  than  in  my  profession,  and 
one  of  the  biggest  rascals  in  it  is  Mr.  Cargreen.  He's  on 
the  side  against  the  orphings.  If  you've  the  faculty 
of  pity  in  you,  pity  them — first,  because  they've  him 
agin'  'em,  and,'secondly,  because  they've  lost  me  as  their 
protector.  You  know  whom  they  got  in  place  of  me  ?  I 
wish  them  joy  of  him.  But  they  won't  have  his  wing  over 
them  long,  I  can  tell  you." 

"  You  think  not  ?  " 

"  Sure  of  it." 

"  You  think  he'll  throw  it  up  ?  " 

"I  rather  suspect  he  won't  be  at  liberty  to  attend 
to  it.  He'll  wan't  his  full  attention  to  his  own  con- 
sarns." 

Mr.  Scantlebray  tipped  off  his  glass. 

"  It's  going  to  be  a  dirty  night,"  said  he.  "  You  won't 
mind  my  spending  an  hour  or  two  with  you,  will 
you  ? " 


98  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

"  I  shall  be  delighted.  Have  you  any  business  in  the 
place  ? " 

"Business — no.  A  little  pleasure,  maybe."  After  a 
pause,  he  said,  "  But,  old  man,  I  don't  mind  telling-  you 
what  it  is.  You  are  mum,  I  know.  It  is  this — the 
trap  will  shut  to-night.  Snap  it  goes,  and  the  rats  are 
fast.  You  haven't  been  out  on  the  cliffs  to-day,  have 
you?" 

"  No— bless  me ! — no,  I  have  not." 

"  The  Black  Prince  is  in  the  offing." 

"  The  Black  Prince  1 " 

"Ay,  and  she  will  run  her  cargo  ashore  to-night. 
Now,  I'm  one  who  knows  a  little  more  than  most.  I'm 
one  o'  your  straightforward  'uns,  always  ready  to  give  a 
neighbor  a  lift  in  my  buggy,  and  a  helping1  hand  to  the 
man  that  is  down,  and  a  frank,  outspoken  fellow  am  I  to 
every  one  I  meet — so  that,  knocking  about  as  I  do,  I 
come  to  know  and  to  hear  more  than  do  most,  and  I  hap- 
pen to  have  learnt  into  what  cove  the  Black  Prince  will 
run  her  goods.  I've  a  bone  to  pick  with  Captain  Cruel, 
so  I've  let  the  Preventive  men  have  the  contents  of  my 
information-pottle,  and  they  will  be  ready  to-night  for 
Coppinger  and  the  whole  party  of  them.  The  cutter  will 
slip  in  between  them  and  the  sea,  and  a  party  will  be 
prepared  to  give  them  the  kindliest  welcome  by  land. 
That  is  the  long  and  short  of  it — and,  old  man,  I  shall 
dearly  love  to  be  there  and  see  the  sport.  That  is  why  I 
wish  to  be  with  you  for  an  hour  or  two.  Will  you  come 
as  well  1 " 

"  Bless  me  ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Menaida,  "  not  I !  You 
don't  suppose  Coppinger  and  his  men  will  allow  them- 
selves to  be  taken  easily  ?  There'll  be  a  fight." 

"And  pistols  go  off,"  said  Scaiitlebray.  "I  shall  not 
be  surprised  or  sorry  if  Captain  Cruel  be  washed  up  one 
of  these  next  tides  with  a  bullet  through  his  head.  Eben- 
ezer  Wyvill  is  one  of  the  guards,  and  he  has  his  brother's 
death  to  avenge." 

"  .Do  you  really  believe  that  Coppinger  killed  him  ?  " 

Mr.  Scantlebray  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  It  don't 
matter  much  what  /  think,  to-night,  but  what  the  im- 
pression is  that  Ebenezer  Wyvill  carries  about  with  him. 
I  imagine  that  if  Ebenezer  comes  across  the  Captain  he 
won't  speak  to  him  by  word  of  mouth,  nor  trouble  him- 
self to  feel  for  a  pair  of  handcuffs.  So— fill  m}'  glass 


fN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  99 

again,  old  man,  and  we'll  drink  to  a  cold  bed  and  an  in- 
digestible lump — somewhere — in  his  head  or  in  his  giz- 
zard— to  Cruel  Coppinger,  and  the  wiping  off  of  old 
scores — always  a  satisfaction  to  honest  men."  Scantle- 
bray  rubbed  his  hands.  "  It  is  a  satisfaction  to  the 
conscience — to  ferret  out  the  rats  sometimes." 


CHAPTEK  XIV. 

WAKNING    OF    DANGER. 

Judith,  lost  for  awhile  in  her  dreams,  had  been  brought 
to  a  sense  of  what  was  the  subject  of  conversation  in 
the  adjoining  room  by  the  mention  of  Coppinger's  name 
more  than  once.  She  heard  the  desultory  talk  for 
awhile  without  giving  it  much  attention,  but  Scantle- 
bray's  voice  was  of  that  harsh  and  penetrating  nature 
that  to  exclude  it  the  ears  must  be  treated  as  Ulysses 
treated  the  ears  of  his  mariners  as  he  passed  the  rock  of 
the  Sirens. 

Presently  she  became  alive  to  the  danger  in  which. 
Coppinger  stood.  Scantlebray  spoke  plainly,  and  she 
understood.  There  could  be  no  doubt  about  it.  The 
Black  Prince  belonged  to  the  Captain,  and  his  dealings 
with  and  through  that  vessel  were  betrayed.  Not  only 
was  Coppinger,  as  the  head  of  a  gang  of  smugglers,  an 
object  worth  capture  to  the  Preventive  men,  but  the 
belief  that  he  had  caused  the  death  of  at  least  one  of 
their  number  had  embittered  them  against  him  to  such 
an  extent  that,  when  the  opportunity  presented  itself 
to  them  of  capturing  him  red-handed  engaged  in  his 
smuggling  transactions,  they  were  certain  to  deal  with 
him  in  a  way  much  more  summary  than  the  processes  of 
a  court  of  a  justice.  The  brother  of  the  man  who  had 
been  murdered  was  among  the  coast-guard,  and  he  would 
not  willingly  let  slip  a  chance  of  avenging  the  death  of 
Jonas  Wyvill.  Coppinger  was  not  in  a  condition  to 
defend  himself  effectively.  On  that  dayr  for  the  first 
time,  had  he  left  off  his  bandages,  and  his  muscles  were 
stiff  and  the  newly  set  bones  still  weak. 

What  was  to  be  done  ?  Could  Judith  go  to  bed  and 
let  Coppinger  run  into  the  net  prepared  for  his  feet— go 
to  his  death  ? 

No  sooner,  however,  had  Judith  realized  the  danger 
that  menaced  Coppinger  than  she  resolved  on  doing  her 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF   THE  SEA.  101 


utmost  to  avert  it.  She,  and  she  aloae,  eo  rrkl  Ul'eH  >vi- 
him  from  the  disgrace,  if  uot  the  death,  that  memuvd 
him. 

She  stole  lightly  from  the  room  and  got  her  cloak, 
drew  the  hood  over  her  head,  and  sallied  forth  into  the 
night.  Heavy  clouds  rolled  over  the  sky,  driven  before 
a  strong  gale.  Now  and  then  they  opened  and  disclosed 
the  twilight  sky,  in  which  faintly  twinkled  a  few  stars, 
and  at  such  times  a  dim  light  fell  over  the  road,  bat  in 
another  moment  lumbering  masses  of  vapor  were  carried 
forward,  blotting  out  the  clear  tract  of  sky,  and  at  the 
same  time  blurring  all  objects  on  earth  with  one  envelop- 
ing shadow. 

Judith's  heart  beat  furiously,  and  timidity  came  over 
her  spirit  as  she  left  the  cottage,  for  she  was  unaccus- 
tomed to  be  outside  the  house  at  such  an  hour  ;  but  the 
purpose  she  had  before  her  eyes  gave  her  strength  and 
courage.  It  seemed  to  her  that  Providence  had  sud- 
denly constituted  her  the  guardian  angel  of  Coppiiiger, 
and  she  nattered  herself  that,  were  she  to  be  the  means 
of  delivering  him  from  the  threatened  danger,  she  might 
try  to  exact  of  him  a  promise  to  discontinue  so  danger- 
ous and  so  questionable  a  business.  If  this  night  she 
were  able  to  give  him  warning  in  time,  it  would  be 
some  return  made  for  his  kindness  to  her,  and  some 
reparation  made  for  the  injury  she  had  done  him. 
'When  for  an  instant  there  was  a  rift  in  the  clouds, 
and  she  could  look  up  and  see  the  pure  stars,  it  seemed 
to  her  that  they  shone  down  on  her  like  angels'  eyes, 
watching,  encouraging,  and  promising  her  protection. 
She  thought  of  her  father  —  of  how  his  mind  had  been 
set  against  Coppinger  ;  now,  she  felt  convinced,  he  saw 
that  his  judgment  had  been  warped,  and  that  he  would 
bless  her  for  doing  that  which  she  had  set  her  mind  to 
accomplish.  Her  father  had  been  ever  ready  frankly 
to  acknowledge  himself  in  the  wrong  when  he  had  been 
convinced  that  he  was  mistaken,  and  now  in  the  light 
of  eternity,  with  eyes  undarkened  by  prejudice,  he  must 
know  that  he  was  in  error  in  his  condemnation  of 
Coppinger,  and  be  glad  that  his  daughter  was  doing 
something  to  save  that  man  from  an  untimely  and 
bloody  death. 

Not  a  soul  did  Judith  meet  or  pass  on  her  way.  She 
had  determined  in  the  first  case  to  go  to  Pentyre  Glaze. 


102-  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

Sli'e;  would  see  if  Captain  Cruel  were  there.  She  trusted 
lie  was  at  his  house.  If  so,  her  course  was  simple ;  she 
would  warn  him  and  return  to  Mr.  Menaicla's  cottage  as 
quickly  as  her  feet  would  bear  her.  The  wind  caught 
her  cloak,  and  she  turned  in  alarm,  fancying-  that  it  was 
plucked  by  a  human  hand.  No  one,  however,  was  be- 
hind her. 

In  Pentyre  lane  it  was  dark,  very  dark.  The  rude 
half-walls,  half-hedges  stood  up  high,  walled  toward 
the  lane  hedged  with  earth  and  planted  with  thorns 
toward  the  field.  The  wind  hissed  through  the  bushes  ; 
there  was  an  ash  tree  by  a  gate.  One  branch  sawed 
against  another,  producing  a  weird,  even  shrill  sound 
like  a  cry. 

The  way  led  past  a  farm,  and  she  stole  along  before  it 
with  the  utmost  fear  as  she  heard  the  dog  in  the  yard 
begin  to  bark  furiously,  and  as  she  believed  that  it" was 
not  chained  up,  might  rush  forth  at  her.  It  might  fall 
upon  her,  and  hold  her  there  till  the  farmer  came  forth 
and  found  her,  and  inquired  into  the  reason  of  her  being 
there  at  night.  If  found  and  recognized,  what  excuse 
could  she  give  f  What  explanation  could  satisfy  the  in- 
quisitive ! 

She  did  not  breathe  freely  till  she  had  come  out  on  the 
down ;  the  dog  was  still  barking,  but,  as  he  had  not  pur- 
sued her,  she  was  satisfied  that  he  was  not  at  large.  Her 
way  now  lay  for  a  while  over  open  common,  and  then 
again  entered  a  lane  between  the  hedges  that  enclosed 
the  fields  and  meadows  of  the  Glaze. 

A  dense  darkness  fell  over  the  down,  and  Judith  for  a 
while  was  uncertain  of  her  way,  the  track  being  imdis- 
tinguishable  from  the  short  turf  on  either  side.  Sud- 
denly she  saw  some  flashes  of  light  that  ran  along  the 
ground  and  then  disappeared. 

"  This  is  the  road,"  said  a  voice. 

Judith's  heart  stood  still,  and  her  blood  curdled  in  her 
veins.  If  the  cloud  were  to  roll  away — and  she  could  see 
far  off  its  silvery  fringe,  she  would  become  visible.  The 
voice  was  that  of  a  man,  but  whether  that  of  a  smuggler 
or  of  a  coast-guard  she  could  not  guess.  By  neither 
did  she  care  to  be  discovered.  By  the  dim,  uncertain 
light  she  stole  off  the  path,  and  sank  upon  the  ground 
among  some  masses  of  gorse  that  stood  on  the  common. 
Between  the  prickly  tufts  she  might  lie,  and  in  her  dark 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF   THE  SEA.  103 

cloak  be  mistaken  for  a  patch  of  furze.  She  drew  her 
feet  under  the  skirt,  that  the  white  stocking's  might  not 
betray  her,  and  plucked  the  hood  of  her  cloak  closely 
round  her  face.  The  gorse  was  sharp,  and  the  spikes  en- 
tered her  hands  and  feet,  and  pricked  her  as  she  turned 
herself  about  between  the  bushes  to  bring  herself  deeper 
among  them. 

From  where  she  lay  she  could  see  the  faintly  illumined 
horizon,  and  against  that  horizon  figures  were  visible, 
one — then  another — a  third — she'  could  not  count  accu- 
rately, for  there  came  several  together ;  but  she  was  con- 
vinced there  must  have  been  over  a  dozen  men. 

"  It's  a'most  too  rough  to-night,  I  reckon,"  said  one  of 
the  men. 

"  No,  it  is  not — the  wind  is  not  direct  on  shore. 
They'll  try  it." 

"'  Coppinger  and  his  chaps  are  down  in  the  cove 
already,"  said  a  third.  "  They  wouldn't  go  out  if  they 
wasn't  expecting  the  boats  from  the  Black  Prince." 

:'  You  are  sure  they're  dowrn,  Wyvill  ?  " 

"  Sure  and  sartain.  I  seed  'em  pass,  and  mighty  little 
I  liked  to  let  'em  go  by — without  a  pop  from  my  pistol. 
But  I'd  my  orders.  No  orders  against  the  pistol  going 
off  of  itself,  Captain,  if  I  have  a  chance  presently  ?  " 

No  answer  was  given  to  this ;  but  he  who  had  been 
addressed  as  Captain  asked— 

"  Are  the  asses  out  ?  " 

"Yes  ;  a  whole  score,  I  reckon." 

"Then  they'll  come  up  the  mule-path.  We  must  watch 
that.  Lieutenant  Hanson  will  be  ready  with  the  cutter 
to  run  out  and  stop  their  way  back  by  water  to  the 
Prince.  The  Prince's  men  will  take  to  the  sea,  and  he'll 
settle  with  them  ;  but  Coppinger's  men  will  run  up  the 
cliffs,  and  we  must  tackle  them.  Go  on." 

Several  now  disappeared  into  the  darkness,  moving 
toward  the  sea. 

"  Here,  a  word  with  you,  Wyvill,"  said  the  Captain. 

"  Eight,  sir— here  I  be." 

"  Dash  it  ? — it  is  so  dark  !  Here,  step  back — a  word 
in  your  ear." 

"Eight  you  are,  sir." 

They  came  on  to  the  turf  close  to  where  Judith 
crouched. 

"  What  is  that  1  "  said  the  Captain,  hastily. 


104:  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

"  What,  sir  |  " 

"  I  thought  I  trod  on  something1  like  cloth.  Have  you 
a  light  ? " 

"  No,  sir !     Home  has  the  dark  lantern." 

"  I  suppose  it  is  nothing.  What  is  all  that  dark  stuff 
there  "1  " 

"I'll  see,  sir,"  said  Wyvill,  stopping,  and  groping 
with  his  hand.  "  By  George,  sir  !  it's  naught  but  fuzz/' 

"  Very  well,  Wyvill — a  word  between  us.  I  know  that 
if  you  have  the  chance  you  intend  to  send  a  bullet  into 
Coppinger.  I  don't  blame  you.  I  won't  say  I  wouldn't 
do  it — unofficially — but  looky'  here,  man,  if  you  can  man- 
age without  a  bullet — say  a  blow  with  the  butt-end  on 
his  forehead  and  a  roll  over  the  cliffs — I'd  prefer  it.  In 
self-defence  of  course  we  must  use  fire-arms.  But  there's 
some  squeamish  stomachs,  you  understand  ;  and  if  it 
can  come  about  accidentally,  as  it  were — as  if  he'd  missed 
his  footing — I'd  prefer  it.  Make  it  pleasant  all  around, 
if  you  can." 

"  Yes,  sir ;  leave  it  to  me." 

"  It  oughtn't  to  be  difficult,  you  know,  Wyvill.  I  hear 
he's  broke  one  arm,  so  is  like  to  be  insecure  in  his  hold 
climbing  the  cliffs.  Then  no  questions  asked,  and  more 
pleasant,  you  know.  You  understand  me  ?  " 

:'  Yes,  sir ;  thank  you,  sir." 

Then  they  went  on,  and  were  lost  to  sight  and  to 
hearing.  For  some  minutes  Judith  did  not  stir.  She 
lay,  recovering  her  breath ;  she  had  hardly  ventured  to 
breathe  while  the  two  men  were  by  her,  the  Captain 
with  his  foot  on  her  skirt.  Now  she  remained  motion- 
less, to  consider  what  was  to  be  done.  It  was  of  no 
further  use  her  going  on  to  Pentyre  Glaze.  Coppinger 
had  left  it.  Wyvill,  who  had  been  planted  as  spy,  had 
had  seen  him  with  his  carriers  defile  out  of  the  lane  with 
the  asses  that  were  to  bring  up  the  smuggled  goods  from 
the  shore. 

She  dare  not  take  the  path  by  which  on  the  preceding 
afternoon  she  had  descended  with  Jamie  to  the  beach, 
for  it  was  guarded  by  the  Preventive  men. 

There  was  but  one  way  by  which  she  could  reach  the 
shore  and  warn  Coppinger,  and  that  was  by  the  chimney 
of  the  cave — a  way  dangerous  in  daylight,  one,  moreover, 
not  easy  to  find  at  night.  The  mouth  of  the  chimney 
opened  upon  a  ledge  that  overhung  the  sea  half-way 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  105 

down  the  face  of  the  precipice,  and  this  ledge  could  only 
be  reached  by  a  narrow  track — a  track  apparently  traced 
by  sheep. 

Judith  thought  that  she  might  find  her  way  to  that 
p art  of  the  down  from  which  the  descent  was  to  be 
made ;  for  she  had  noticed  that  what  is  locally  called  a 
"  new-take "  wall  came  near  it,  and  if  she  could  hit 
this  wall,  she  believed  she  could  trace  it  up  to  where  it 
approached  the  cliff:  and  the  track  descended  some- 
where thereabouts.  She  waited 'where  she  lay  till  the 
heavy  clouds  rolled  by,  and  for  a  brief  space  the  sky  was 
comparatively  clear.  Then  she  rose,  and  took  the  direc- 
tion in  which  she  ought  to  go  to  reach  the  "  new-take  " 
wall.  As  she  went  over  the  down,  she  heard  the  sea 
roaring  threateningly ;  on  her  left  hand  the  glint  of  the 
light-house  on  Trevose  Head  gave  her  the  direction  she 
must  pursue.  But,  on  a  down  like  that,  with  a  precipice 
on  one  hand  ;  in  a  light,  uncertain  at  best,  often  in  com- 
plete darkness,  it  was  dangerous  to  advance  except  by 
thrusting  the  foot  forward  tentatively  before  taking  a 
step.  The  sea  and  the  gnawing  winds  caused  the  cliffs 
to  crumble ;  bits  were  eaten  out  of  the  surface,  and  in 
places  there  were  fissures  in  the  turf  where  a  rent  had 
formed,  and  where  shortly  a  mass  would  fall. 

It  is  said  that  the  duties  on  customs  were  originally 
instituted  in  order  to  enable  the  Crown  to  afford  protec- 
tion to  trade  against  pirates.  The  pirates  ceased  to  in- 
fest the  seas,  but  the  duties  were  not  only  taken  off,  but 
were  increased,  and  became  a  branch  of  the  public  reve- 
nue. Perhaps  some  consciousness  that  the  profits  were 
not  devoted  to  the  purpose  originally  intended,  bred  in 
the  people  on  the  coast  a  feeling  of  resentment  against 
the  imposition  of  duties.  There  certainly  existed  an 
impression,  a  conviction  rather,  that  the  violation  of  a 
positive  law  of  this  nature  was  in  no  respect  criminal. 
Adventurers  embarked  in  the  illicit  traffic  without 
scruple,  as  they  did  in  poaching.  The  profit  was  great, 
and  the  danger  run  enhanced  the  excitement  of  the  pur- 
suit, and  gave  a  sort  of  heroic  splendor  to  the  achieve- 
ments of  the  successful  smuggler. 

The  Government,  to  stop  a  traffic  that  injured  legiti- 
mate trade  and  affected  the  revenue,  imposed  severe 
penalties.  Smuggling  was  classed  among  the  felonies, 
"  without  benefit  of  clergy,"  the  punishment  for  which 


106  I2V  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

was  death  and  confiscation  of  goods.  The  consciousness 
that  they  would  be  dealt  with  with  severity  did  not  de- 
ter bold  men  from  engaging1  in  the  traffic/ but  made  them 
desperate  in  self-defence  when  caught.  Conflicts  witli 
revenue  officers  were  not  uncommon,  and  lives  were  lost 
on  both  sides.  The  smugglers  were  not  bound  together 
by  any  link,  and  sometimes  one  gang  was  betrayed  by 
another,  so  as  to  divert  suspicion  and  attention  from 
their  own  misdeeds,  or  out  of  jealousy,  or  on  account  of 
a  quarrel.  It  was  so  011  this  occasion :  the  success  of  Cop- 
pinger,  the  ingenuity  with  which  he  had  carried  on  his 
defiance  of  the  law,  caused  envy  of  him,  because  he  was 
a  foreigner — was,  at  all  events,  not  a  Cornishman  ;  this 
had  induced  a  rival  to  give  notice  to  the  Revenue  officers, 
through  Scantlebray — a  convenient  go-between  in  a  good 
many  questionable  negotiations.  The  man  who  betrayed 
Coppinger  dared  not  be  seen  entering  into  communica- 
tion with  the  officers  of  the  law.  He,  therefore,  employed 
Scantlebray  as  the  vehicle  through  whom,  without  sus- 
picion resting  on  himself,  his  rival  might  be  fallen  upon 
and  his  proceedings  brought  to  an  end. 

It  was  now  very  dark.  Judith  had  reached  and  touched 
a  wall ;  but  in  the  darkness  lost  her  bearings.  The  Tre- 
vose  light  was  no  longer  visible,  and  directly  she  left  the 
wall  to  strike  outward  she  became  confused  as  to  her 
direction,  and  in  the  darkness  groped  along  with  her 
feet,  stretching  her  hands  before  her.  Then  the  rain 
came  down,  lashing  in  her  face.  The  wind  had  shifted 
somewhat  during  the  evening,  and  it  was  no  guidance  to 
Judith  to  feel  from  what  quarter  the  rain  drove  against 
her.  Moreover,  the  cove  formed  a  great  curve  in  the 
coast-line,  and  was  indented  deeply  in  some  places,  so 
that  to  grope  round  the  edge  without  light  in  quest  of  a 
point  only  seen  or  noticed  once,  seemed  a  desperate  vent- 
ure. Suddenly  Judith's  foot  caught.  It  was  entangled, 
and  she  could  not  disengage  it.  She  stooped,  and  put 
her  hand  on  a  chain.  It  was  Jamie's  steel  dog-chain,  one 
link  of  which  had  caught  in  a  tuft  of  rest-harrow. 

She  had  found  the  spot  she  wanted,  and  now  waited 
only  till  the  rain  had  rushed  further  inland,  and  a  fringe 
of  light  appeared  in  the  sky,  to  advance  to  the  very  edge 
of  the  cliff.  She  found  it  expedient  to  stoop  as  she  pro- 
ceeded, so  as  to  discover  some  indications  of  the  track. 
There  were  depressions  where  feet  had  worn  the  turf, 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  107 

and  she  set  hers  therein,  and  sought  the  next.  Thus, 
creeping-  and  groping-,  she  neared  the  edge. 

And  now  came  the  moment  of  supreme  peril,  when, 
trusting-  that  she  had  found  the  right  path,  she  must  go 
over  the  brink.  If  she  were  mistaken,  the  next  step 
would  send  her  down  two  hundred  feet,  to  where  she 
heard  the  roar,  and  felt  the  breath  of  the  sea  stream  up 
to  her  from  the  abyss.  Here  she  could  distinguish  noth- 
ing- ;  she  must  trust  to  Providence  to  guide  her  steps. 
She  uttered  a  short  and  earnest  prayer,  and  then  boldly 
descended.  She  could  not  stoop  now.  To  stoop  was  to 
dive  headlong-  down.  She  felt  her  way,  however,  with 
her  feet,  reached  one  firm  station,  then  another.  Her 
hands  touched  the  grass  and  earth  of  the  ragged  margin, 
then  with  another  step  she  was  below  it,  and  held  to  the 
rain-splashed  fangs  of  rock. 

Clinging,  with  her  face  inward,  feeling  with  her  feet, 
and  never  sure  but  that  the  next  moment  might  see  her 
launched  into  air,  she  stole  onward,  slowly,  cautiousty, 
and  ever  with  the  gnawing  dread  in  her  heart  lest  she 
should  be  too  late.  One  intense  point  of  consciousness 
stood  oat  in  her  brain — it  told  her  that  if,  while  thus 
creeping  down,  there  should  come  the  flash  and  ex- 
plosion of  fire-arms,  her  courage  would  fail,  her  head 
would  spin,  and  she  would  be  lost. 

How  long  she  was  descending  she  could  not  tell,  how 
many  steps  she  took  was  unknown  to  her — she  had  not 
counted — but  it  seemed  to  her  an  entire  night  that 
passed,  with  every  change  of  position  an  hour  was 
marked ;  then,  at  last,  she  was  conscious  that  she  stood 
on  more  level  ground.  She  had  reached  the  terrace. 

A  little  further,  and  on  her  left  hand,  would  open  the 
mouth  of  the  shaft,  and  she  must  descend  that,  in  pro- 
foundest  darkness.  A  cry  !  A  light  flashed  into  her 
eyes  and  dazzled  her.  A  hand  at  the  same  moment 
clutched  her,  or  she  would  have  reeled  back  and  gone 
over  the  cliff. 

The  light  was  held  to  pour  over  her  face.  Who  held 
it  and  who  grasped  her  she  could  not  see ;  but  she  knew 
the  moment  she  heard  a  voice  exclaim — 

"  Judith  I " 

In  her  terror  and  .exhaustion  she  could  but  gasp  for 
breath  for  a  few  moments. 

By  degrees  her  firmness  and  resolution  returned,  and 


108  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

she  exclaimed,  in  broken  tones,  panting  between  every 
few  words — 

"  Captain  Cruel ! — you  are  betrayed— they  are  after 
you!" 

He  did  not  press  her.  He  waited  till  she  could  speak 
again,  lowering"  the  lantern. 

Then,  without  the  glare  in  her  eyes,  she  was  able  to 
speak  more  freely. 

"  There  is  a  boat — a  Revenue  cutter — waiting  in  the 
bay — and— above — are  the  Preventive  men — and  they 
Avill  kill  you." 

"Indeed,"  said  he.  "And  you  have  come  to  warn 
me?" 

"  Yes." 

"Tell  me — are  there  any  above,  where  you  came 
down  ? " 

"  None  ;  they  are  on  the  ass-path." 

"  Can  you  ascend  as  you  came  down  1 " 

"Yes." 

He  extinguished  his  lantern,  or  covered  it. 

"  I  must  no  more  show  light.  I  must  warn  those  be- 
low." He  paused,  then  said — 

"  Dare  you  mount  alone." 

"  I  came  down  alone.  " 

"  Then  do  this  one  thing  more  for  me.  Mount,  and  go 
to  Pentyre.  Tell  your  aunt — three  lights — red,  white, 
red;  then  ten  minutes,  and  then,  red,  red,  white.  Can 
you  remember  ?  Repeat  after  me  :  '  Three  lights — red, 
white,  red ;  then  ten  minutes,  and  next,  red,  red,  and 
white.' " 

Judith  repeated  the  words. 

"  That  is  right.  Lose  no  time.  I  dare  not  give  you  a 
light.  None  must  now  be  shown.  The  boat  from  the 
Black  Prince  is  not  in — this  lantern  was  her  guide.  Now 
it  is  out  she  will  go  back.  You  will  remember  the  sig- 
nals ?  I  thank  you  for  what  you  have  done.  There  is 
but  one  woman  would  have  done  it,  and  that  Judith." 

He  stepped  inside  the  shaft  to  descend.  When  hidden, 
he  allowed  his  light  again  to  show,  to  assist  him  in  his 
way  down.  Judith  only  waited  till  her  eyes,  that  had 
been  dazzled  by  the  light,  were  recovered,  and  then  she 
braced  herself  to  resume  her  climb ;  but  now  it  was  to  be 
up  the  cliff. 


CHAPTEE  XV. 

CHAINED. 

To  ascend  is  easier  than  to  go  down.  Judith  was  no 
longer  alarmed.  There  was  danger  still,  that  was  inevi- 
table ;  but  the  danger  was  as  nothing  now  to  what  it 
had  been.  It  is  one  thing  to  descend  in  total  darkness 
into  an  abyss  where  one  knows  that  below  are  sharp 
rocks,  and  a  drop  of  two  hundred  feet  to  a  thundering, 
raging  sea,  racing  up  the  sand,  pouring  over  the  shelves 
of  rock,  foaming  where  divided  waves  clash.  When  Ju- 
dith had  been  on  the  beach  in  the  afternoon  the  tide  was 
out ;  now  it  was  flowing,  and  had  swept  over  all  that 
tract  of  white  sand  and  pebble  where  she  had  walked. 
She  could  not  indeed  now  see  the  water,  but  she  heard 
the  thud  of  a  billow  as  it  smote  a  rock,  the  boil  and  the 
hiss  of  the  waves  and  spray.  To  step  downward,  grop- 
ing the  way,  with  a  depth  and  a  wild-throbbing  sea  be- 
neath, demanded  courage,  and  courage  of  no  mean  order; 
but  it  was  other  to  mount,  to  be  able  to  feel  with  the 
foot  the  ascent  in  the  track,  and  to  grope  upward  with 
the  hand  from  one  point  of  clutch  to  another,  to  know- 
that  every  step  upward  was  lessening  the  peril,  and 
bringing  nearer  to  the  sward  and  to  safety. 

"Without  great  anxiety,  therefore,  Judith  turned  to 
climb.  Cruel  Coppinger  had  allowed  her  to  essay  it  un- 
aided. Would  he  have  done  that  had  he  thought  it  in- 
volved danger,  or,  rather,  serious  danger  ?  Judith  was 
sure  he  would  not.  His  confidence  that  she  could  climb 
to  the  summit  unassisted  made  her  confident.  As  she 
had  descended  she  had  felt  an  interior  qualm  and  sink- 
ing at  every  step  she  took ;  there  was  no  such  sensation 
now  as  she  mounted. 

She  was  not  much  inconvenienced  by  the  wind,  for  the 
wind  was  not  directly  on  shore;  but  it  soughed  about 
her,  and  eddies  caught  her  cloak  and  jerked  it.  It  would 
have  been  better  had  she  left  her  cloak  above  on  the 


110  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

turf.  It  incommoded  her  in  her  climb ;  it  caught  in  the 
prongs  of  rock. 

The  rain,  the  water  running  off  the  rock,  had  wet  her 
shoes,  soaked  them,  and  every  step  was  in  moisture  that 
oozed  out  of  them.  She  was  glad  now  to  rest  on  her 
right  hand.  In  descending,  the  left  had  felt  and  held 
the  rock,  and  it  had  been  rubbed  and  cut.  *  Probably  it 
was  bleeding. 

Surely  there  was  a  little  more  light  in  the  sky  where 
the  sky  showed  between  the  dense  masses  of  vapor.  Ju- 
dith did  not  observe  this,  for  she  did  not  look  aloft ;  but 
she  could  see  a  steely  tract  of  sea,  fretted  into  foam,  re- 
flecting an  illumination  from  above,  greater  than  the 
twilight  could  cast.  Then  she  remembered  that  there 
had  been  a  moon  a  few  nights  before,  and  thought  that  it 
was  probably  risen  by  this  time. 

Something  chill  and  wet  brushed  her  face.  It  startled 
her  for  a  moment,  and  then  she  knew  by  the  scent  that 
it  was  a  bunch  of  samphire  growing  out  of  the  side  of 
the  crag. 

Shrill  in  her  ear  came  the  scream  of  a  gull  that  rushed 
by  in  the  darkness,  and  she  felt,  or  believed  she  felt,  the 
fan  from  the  wings.  Again  it  screamed,  and  near  the 
ear  it  pierced  her  brain  like  an  awl,  and  then  again,  still 
nearer,  unnerving  her.  In  the  darkness  she  fancied  that 
this  gull  was  about  to  attack  her  with  beak  and  claws, 
and  she  put  up  her  left  arm  as  a  protection  to  her  eyes. 
Then  there  broke  out  a  jabber  of  sea-birds'  voices,  laugh- 
ing mockingly,  at  a  little  distance. 

Whither  had  she  got  ? 

The  way  was  no  longer  easy — one  step  before  another 
—there  was  a  break  of  continuity  in  the  path,  if  path  the 
track  could  be  called. 

Judith  stood  still,  and  put  forward  her  foot  to  test  the 
rock  in  front.  There  was  no  place  where  it  could  rest. 
Had  she,  bewildered  by  that  gull,  diverged  from  the 
track  ?  It  would  be  well  to  retreat  a  few  steps.  She  en- 
deavored to  do  this,  and  found  that  she  encountered  a 
difficulty  in  finding-  the  place  where  she  had  just  planted 
her  foot. 

It  was  but  too  certain  that  she  was  off  the  track  line. 
How  to  recover  it  she  knew  not.  "With  the  utmost  diffi- 
culty she  did  reach  a  point  in  her  rear  where  she  could 
stand,  clinging  to  the  rock;  but  she  clung  now  with  both 


IN  THE  BOAR   OF  THE  SEA.  Ill 

hands.  There  was  no  tuft  of  samphire  to  brush  her  face 
as  she  descended.  She  must  have  got  wrong-  before  she 
touched  that.  But  where  was  the  samphire  ?  She  cau- 
tiously felt  along  the  surface  of  the  crag  in  quest  of  it, 
but  could  not  find  it.  There  was,  however,  a  little  above 
her  shoulder,  a  something  that  felt  like  a  ledge,  and 
which  might  be  the  track.  If  she  had  incautiously  crept 
forward  at  a  level  without  ascending  rapidly  enough,  she 
was  probably  below  the  track.  Could  she  climb  to  this 
point — climb  up  the  bare  rock,  with  sheer  precipice  be- 
low her  1  And,  supposing  that  the  shelf  she  felt  with 
her  hand  were  not  the  track,  could  she  descend  again  to 
the  place  where  she  had  been  ? 

Her  brain  spun.  She  lost  all  notion  as  to  where  she 
might  be — perhaps  she  was  below  the  path,  perhaps  she 
was  above  it.  She  could  not  tell.  She  stood  with  arms 
extended,  clinging  to  the  rock,  and  her  heart  beat  in 
bounds  against  the  flinty  surface.  The  clasp  of  her 
cloak  was  pressing  on  her  throat,  and  strangling  her. 
The  wind  had  caught  the  garment,  and  was  playing  with 
the  folds,  carrying  it  out  and  flapping  it  behind  her  over 
the  gulf.  It  was -irksome  ;  it  was  a  danger  to  her.  She 
cautiously  slid  one  hand  to  her  neck,  unhasped  the  man- 
tle, and  it  was  snatched  from  her  shoulders  and  carried 
away.  She  was  lighter  without  it,  could  move  with 
greater  facility ;  cold  she  was  not,  wet  she  might  be- 
come, but  what  mattered  that  if  she  could  reach  the  top 
oftheoHff! 

Not  only  on  her  own  account  was  Judith  alarmed. 
She  had  undertaken  a  commission.  She  had  promised 
to  bear  a  message  to  her  aunt  from  Coppinger  that  con- 
cerned the  safety  of  his  men.  What  the  signal  meant 
she  did  not  know,  but  suspected  that  it  conveyed  a  mes- 
sage of  danger. 

She  placed  both  her  hands  on  the  ledge,  and  felt  with 
her  knee  for  some  point  on  which  to  rest  it,  to  assist  her 
in  lifting  herself  from  where  she  stood  to  the  higher 
elevation.  There  was  a  small  projection,  and  after  a 
moment's  hesitation  she  drew  her  foot  from  the  shelf 
whereon  it  had  rested  and  leaned  the  left  knee  on  this 
hunch.  Then  she  clung  with  both  hands,  and  with  them 
and  her  knee  endeavored  to  heave  herself  up  about  four 
feet,  that  is,  to  the  height  of  her  shoulders.  A  convul- 
sive quiver  seized  on  her  muscles.  She  was  sustained 


112  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

by  a  knee  and  her  hands  only.  If  they  gave  way  she 
could  not  trust  to  recover  her  previous  lodgement  place. 
One  desperate  strain,  and  she  was  on  the  ledge,  on.  both 
knees,  and  was  feeling  with  her  hands  to  ascertain  if  she 
had  found  the  track.  Her  fingers  touched  thrift  and 
passed  over  turf.  She  had  not  reached  what  she  sought. 
She  was  probably  farther  from  it  than  before.  As  all 
her  members  were  quivering  after  the  effort,  she  seated 
herself  on  the  shelf  she  had  reached,  leaned  back  against 
the  wet  rock,  and  waited  till  her  racing  pulses  had  re- 
covered evenness  of  flow,  and  her  muscles  had  overcome 
the  first  effects  of  their  tension. 

Her  position  was  desperate.  Eain  and  perspiration 
mingled  dripped  from  her  brow,  ran  over  and  blinded 
her  eyes.  Her  breath  came  in  sobs  between  her  parted 
lips.  Her  ears  were  full  of  the  booming  of  the  surge 
far  below,  and  the  scarcely  less  noisy  throb  of  her  blood 
in  her  pulses. 

When  she  had  started  on  her  adventurous  expedition 
she  had  seen  some  stars  that  had  twinkled  down  on  her, 
and  had  appeared  to  encourage  her.  Now.  not  a  star 
was  visible,  only,  far  off  011  the  sea,  a  wan  light  that  fell 
through  a  rent  in  the  black  canopy  over  an  angry  deep. 
Beyond  that  all  was  darkness,  between  her  and  that  all 
was  darkness. 

As  she  recovered  her  self-possession,  with  the  abate- 
ment of  the  tumult  in  her  blood  she  was  able  to  review 
her  position,  and  calculate  her  chances  of  escape  from 
it. 

Up  the  track  from  the  cave  the  smugglers  would  al- 
most certainly  escape,  because  that  was  the  only  way, 
unwatched,  by  which  they  could  leave  the  beach  without 
falling  into  the  hands  of  the  Preventive  men. 

If  they  came  by  the  path — that  path  could  not  be  far 
off,  though  in  which  direction  it  lay  she  could  not  guess. 
She  would  call,  and  then  Coppinger  or  some  of  his  men 
would  come  to  her  assistance. 

By  this  means  alone  could  she  escape.  There  was 
nothing  for  her  to  do  but  to  wait. 

She  bent  forward  and  looked  down.  She  might  have 
been  looking  into  a  well ;  but  a  little  way  out  she  could 
see,  or  imagine  she  saw,  the  white  fringes  of  surf  steal- 
ing in.  There  was  not  sufficient  light  for  her  to  be  cer- 
tain whether  she  really  saw  foam,  or  whether  her  fancy, 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  113 

excited  by  the  thunder  of  the  tide,  made  her  suppose 
she  saw  it. 

The  shelf  she  occupied  was  narrow  and  inclined ;  if  she 
slipped  from  it  she  could  not  trust  to  maintain  herself 
on  the  lower  shelf,  certainly  not  if  she  slid  down  in  a 
condition  of  unconsciousness.  And  now  reaction  after 
the  strain  was  setting  in,  and  she  feared  lest  she  might 
faint.  In  her  pocket  was  the  dog-chain  that  had  caught 
her  foot.  She  extracted  that  now,  and  groping  along  the 
wall  of  rock  behind  her,  caught  a  stout  tuft  of  coarse 
heather,  wiry,  well  rooted  ;  and  she  took  the  little  steel 
chain  and  wound  it  about  the  branches  and  stem  of  the 
plant,  and  also  about  her  wrist — her  right  wrist — so  as 
to  fasten  her  to  the  wall,  That  was  some  relief  to  her 
to  know  that  in  the  event  of  her  dropping  out  of  con- 
sciousness there  was  something  to  hold  her  up,  though 
that  was  only  the  stem  of  an  erica,  and  her  whole  weight 
would  rest  on  its  rootlets.  Would  they  suffice  to  sustain 
her  ?  It  was  doubtful ;  but  there  was  nothing  else  on 
which  she  could  depend. 

Suddenly  a  stone  whizzed  past,  struck  the  ledge,  and 
rebounded.  Then  came  a  shower  of  earth  and  pebbles. 
They  did  not  touch  her,  but  she  heard  them  clatter  down. 

Surely  they  had  been  displaced  by  a  foot,  and  that  a 
foot  passing  above. 

Then  she  heard  a  shot — also  overhead,  and  a  cry.  She 
looked  aloft,  and  saw  against  the  half-translucent  vapors 
a  black  struggling  figure  on  the  edge  of  the  cliff.  She 
saw  it  but  for  an  instant,  and  then  was  struck  on  the  face 
by  an  open  hand,  and  a  body  crashed  on  to  the  shelf  at 
her  side,  rolled  over  the  edge,  and  plunged  into  the 
gulf  below. 

She  tried  to  cry,  but  her  voice  failed  her.  She  felt  her 
cheek  stung  by  the  blow  she  had  received.  A  feeling  as 

lough  all  the  rock  were  sinking  under  her  came  on,  as 

lough   she   were   sliding  —  not   shooting — but  sliding 

>wn,  down,  and  the  sky  went  up  higher,  higher — and 
^iie  knew  no  more. 


CHAPTEE  XVI. 

ON     THE      SHINGLE. 

The  smugglers,  warned  by  Coppinger,  had  crept  up 
the  path  in  silence,  and  singly,  at  considerable  intervals 
between  each,  and  on  reaching  the  summit  of  the  cliffs 
had  dispersed  to  their  own  homes,  using  the  precaution 
to  strike  inland  first,  over  the  "  new-take  "  wall. 

As  the  last  of  the  party  reached  the  top  he  encountered 
one  of  the  coast-guards,  who,  by  the  orders  of  his  superior, 
was  patrolling  the  down  to  watch  that  the  smugglers  did 
not  leave  the  cove  by  any  other  path  than  the  one  known 
— that  up  and  down  which  donkeys  were  driven.  This 
donkey-driving  to  the  beach  was  not  pursued  solely  for 
the  sake  of  contraband ;  the  beasts  brought  up  loads  of 
sand,  which  the  farmers  professed  they  found  valuable  as 
manure  on  their  stiff  soil,  and  also  the  masses  of  seaweed 
cast  on  the  strand  after  a  gale,  and  which  was  considered 
to  be  possessed  of  rare  fertilizing  qualities. 

No  sooner  did  the  coast-guard  see  a  man  ascend  the 
cliff,  or  rather  come  up  over  the  edge  before  him,  than  he 
fired  his  pistol  to  give  the  signal  to  his  fellows,  where- 
upon the  smuggler  turned,  seized  him  by  the  throat,  and 
precipitated  him  over  the  edge. 

Of  this  Coppinger  knew  nothing.  He  had  led  the  pro- 
cession, and  had  made  his  way  to  Pentyre  Glaze  by  a 
roundabout  route,  so  as  to  evade  a  guard  set  to  watch  for 
him  approaching  from  the  cliffs,  should  one  have  been  so 
planted. 

On  reaching  his  door,  his  first  query  was  whether  the 
signals  had  been  made. 

"  What  signals  ?  "  asked  Miss  Trevisa. 

"  I  sent  a  messenger  here  with  instructions." 

"  No  messenger  has  been  here." 

"What,  no  one — not — "  he  hesitated,  and  said,  "not 
a  woman  ?  " 

t  "  Not  a  soul  has  been  here — man,  woman,  or  child — 
since  you  left." 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  115 

"  No  one  to  see  you  ?  " 

"  No  one  at  all,  Captain." 

Coppinger  did  not  remove  his  liat;  he  stood  in  the 
doorway  biting  his  thumb.  Was  it  possible  that  Judith 
had  shrunk  from  coming-  to  his  house  to  bear  the  mes- 
sage ?  Yet  she  had  promised  to  do  so.  Had  she  been 
intercepted  by  the  Preventive  men  1  Had — had  she 
reached  the  top  of  the  cliff  ?  Had  she,  after  reaching  the 
top,  lost  her  way  in  the  dark,  taken  a  false  direction, 
and—  Coppinger  did  not  allow  the  thought  to  find 
full  expression  in  his  brain.  He  turned,  without  another 
word,  and  hastened  to  the  cottage  of  Mr.  Menaida.  He 
must  ascertain  whether  she  had  reached  home. 

Uncle  Zachie  had  not  retired  to  bed;  Scantlebray  had 
been  gone  an  hour ;  Zachie  had  drunk  with  Scantlebray, 
and  he  had  drunk  after  the  departure  of  that  individual 
to  indemnify  himself  for  the  loss  of  his  company.  Con- 
sequently Mr.  Menaida  was  confused  in  mind  and  thick 
in  talk. 

"  Where  is  Judith  ?  "  asked  Coppinger,  bursting  in  on 
him. 

"  In  bed,  I  suppose,"  answered  Uncle  Zachie,  after  a 
while,  when  he  comprehended  the  question,  and  had  had 
time  to  get  over  his  surprise  at  seeing  the  Captain. 

"  Are  you  sure  ?     When  did  she  come  in  1 " 

"  Come  in  ?  "  said  the  old  man,  scratching  his  forehead 
with  his  pipe.  "  Come  in — bless  you,  I  don't  know ; 
some  time  in  the  afternoon.  Yes,  to  be  sure  it  was, 
some  time  in  the  afternoon." 

"  But  she  has  been  out  to-night  ? " 

"No — no — no,"  said  Uncle  Zachie,  "it  was  Scantle- 
bray." 

"  I  say  she  has — she  has  been  to — "  he  paused,  then 
said — "to  see  her  aunt." 

"  Aunt  Dunes  !  bless  my  heart,  when  ?  " 

"  To-night." 

"  Impossible ! " 

"  But  I  say  she  has.  Come,  Mr.  Menaida.  Go  up  to 
her  room,  knock  at  the  door,  and  ascertain  if  she  be 
back.  Her  aunt  is  alarmed — there  are  rough  folks  about." 

"  Why,  bless  me !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Menaida,  "  so  there 
are.  And — well,  wonders'll  never  cease.  How  carne  you 
here1?  I  thought  the  guard  were  after  you.  Scantle- 
bray said  so." 


116  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

"  Will  you  go  at  once  and  see  if  Judith  Trevisa  is 
home  ? " 

Coppinger  spoke  with  such  vehemence,  and  looked  so 
threateningly  at  the  old  man,  that  he  staggered  out  of 
his  chair,  and,  still  holding1  his  pipe,  went  to  the  stairs. 

"  Bless  me !  "  said  he,  "  whatever  am  I  about  ?  I've 
forgot  a  candle.  Would  you  oblige  me  with  lighting- 
one  ?  My  hand  shakes,  and  I  might  light  my  fingers  by 
mistake." 

After  what  seemed  to  Coppinger  to  be  an  intolerable 
length  of  time,  Uncle  Zachie  stumbled  down  the  stairs 
again. 

"I  say,"  said  Mr.  Menaida,  standing  on  the  steps, 
"  Captain — did  you  ever  hear  about  Tincombe  Lane  ?— • 

*  Tincombe  Lane  is  all  up-hill, 

Or  down  hill,  as  you  take  it ; 
Yon  tumble  up  and  crack  yonr  crown, 
Or  tumble  down  and  break  it.' 

— It's  the  same  with  these  blessed  stairs.  Would  you 
mind  lending  me  a  hand  ?  By  the  powers,  the  banister 
is  not  firm !  Do  you  know  how  it  goes  on  1 — 

'  Tincombe  Lane  is  crooked  and  straight 

As  pot-hook  or  as  arrow. 
'Tis  smooth  to  foot,  'tis  full  of  rut, 
'Tis  wide  and  then  'tis  narrow.' 

— Thank  you,  sir,  thank  you.  Now  take  the  candle. 
Bah !  I've  broke  my  pipe — and  then  comes  the  moral— 

'  Tincombe  Lane  is  just  like  life 

From  when  you  leave  your  mother, 
'Tis  sometimes  this,  'tis  sometimes  that, 
'Tis  one  thing  or  the  other.'  " 

In  vain  had  Coppinger  endeavored  to  interrupt  the 
flow  of  words,  and  to  extract  from  thick  Zachie  the  in- 
formation he  needed,  till  the  old  gentleman  was  back  in 
his  chair. 

Then  Uncle  Zachie  observed — "  Blessy' — I  said  so — I 
said  so  a  thousand  times.  No— she's  not  there.  Tell 
Aunt  Dunes  so.  Will  you  sit  clown  and  have  a  drop  ? 
The  night  is  rough,  and  it  will  do  you  good— take  the 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  117 

cliill  out  of  your  stomach  and  the  damp  out  of  your 
chest." 

But  Coppinger  did  not  wait  to  decline  the  offer.  He 
turned  at  once,  left  the  house,  and  dashed  the  door  back 
as  he  stepped  out  into  the  night.  He  had  not  gone  a 
hundred  paces  along  the  road  before  he  heard  voices, 
and  recognized  that  of  Mr.  Scantlebray— 

"  I  tell  you  the  vessel  is  the  Black  Prince,  and  I  know 
he  was  to  have  unloaded  her  to-night." 

"  Anyhow  he  is  not  doing  so.     Not  a  sign  of  him." 

"  The  night  is  too  dirty." 

"  Wy vill—  Coppinger  knew  that  the  Captain  at  the 
head  of  the  coast-guard  was  speaking.  "  Wy  vill,  I  heard 
a  pistol-shot.  'Where  is  Jenkyns  ?  If  you  had  not  been 
by  me  I  should  have  said  you  had  acted  wide  of  your 
orders.  Has  any  one  seen  Jenkyns  ?  " 

"No,  sir." 

"  Who  is  that !  " 

Suddenly  a  light  flashed  forth,  and  glared  upon  Cop- 
pinger. The  Captain  in  command  of  the  coast-guard 
uttered  an  oath. 

"  You  out  to-night,  Mr.  Coppinger  ?  Where  do  you 
come  from  ? " 

"  As  you  see — from  Polzeath." 

"  Humph  !     From  no  other  direction  ?  " 

"I'll  trouble  you  to  let  me  pass." 

Coppinger  thrust  the  Preventive  man  aside,  and  went 
on  his  way. 

When  he  was  beyond  ear-shot,  Scantlebray  said — 
"  I  trust  he  did  not  notice  me  along  with  you.  You  see, 
the  night  is  too  dirty.  Let  him  bless  his  stars,  it  has 
saved  him." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  Jenkyns,"  said  the  officer.  "  I 
am  almost  certain  I  heard  a  pistol-shot ;  but  when  I  sent 
in  the  direction  whence  it  came,  there  was  no  one  to  be 
seen.  It's  a  confounded  dark  night." 

"  I  hope  they've  not  give  us  the  slip,  Captain  ?  "  said 
Wyvill. 

"  Impossible,"  answered  the  officer.  "Impossible.  I 
took  every  precaution.  They  did  not  go  out  to-night. 
As  Mr.  Scantlebray  says,  the  night  w^as  too  dirty." 

Then  they  went  on. 

In  the  meantime  Coppinger  was  making  the  best  of 
his  way  to  the  downs.  He  knew  his  direction  even  in 


118  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

the  dark — lie  had  the  "  new-take  "  wall  as  a  guide.  What 
the  coast-guard  did  not  suspect  was  that  this  "  new-take  " 
had  been  made  for  the  very  purpose  of  serving  as  a  guide 
by  which  the  smugglers  could  find  their  course  in  the 
blackest  of  winter's  nights ;  moreover,  in  the  fiercest 
storm  the  wall  served  as  a  shelter,  under  lea  of  which 
they  might  approach  their  cave.  Coppinger  was  with- 
out a  lantern.  He  doubted  if  one  would  avail  him,  in 
his  quest ;  moreover,  the  night  was  lightening,  as  the 
moon  rode  higher. 

The  smuggler  captain  stood  for  a  moment  on  the  edge 
of  .the  cliffs  to  consider  what  course  he  should  adopt  to 
find  Judith.  If  she  had  reached  the  summit,  it  was  pos- 
sible enough  that  she  had  lost  her  way  and  had  rambled 
inland  among  lanes  and  across  fields,  pixy -led.  In  that 
case  it  was  a  hopeless  task  to  search  for  her ;  moreover, 
there  would  be  no  particular  necessity  for  him  to  do  so, 
as,  sooner  or  later,  she  must  reach  a  cottage  or  a  farm, 
where  she  could  learn  her  direction.  But  if  she  had 
gone  too  near  the  edge,  or  if,  in  her  ascent,  her  foot  had 
slipped,  then  he  must  search  the  shore.  The  tide  was 
ebbing  now,  and  left  a  margin  on  which  he  could  walk. 
This  was  the  course  he  must  adopt.  He  did  not  descend 
by  the  track  to  the  chimney,  as  the  creeping  down  of 
the  latter  could  be  effected  in  absolute  darkness  only 
with  extreme  risk ;  but  he  bent  his  way  over  the  down 
skirting  the  crescent  indentation  of  the  cove  to  the  don- 
key-path, which  was  now,  as  he  knew,  unwatched.  By 
that  he  swiftly  and  easily  descended  to  the  beach.  Along 
the  shore  he  crept  carefully  toward  that  portion  which 
was  overhung  by  the  precipice  along  which  the  way  ran 
from  the  mouth  of  the  shaft.  The  night  was  mending, 
or  at  all  events  seemed  better.  The  moon,  as  it  mounted, 
cast  a  glimmer  through  the  least  opaque  portions  of  the 
driving  clouds.  Coppinger  looked  up,  and  could  see  the 
ragged  fringe  of  down  torn  with  gullies,  and  thrust  up 
into  prongs,  black  as  ink  against  the  gray  of  the  half- 
translucent  vapors.  And  near  at  hand  was  the  long  dor- 
sal ridge  that  concealed  the  entrance  to  the  cave,  sloping 
rapidly  upward  and  stretching  away  before  him  into 
shadow. 

Coppinger  mused.  If  one  were  to  fall  from  above, 
would  he  drop  between  the  cliff  and  this  curtain,  or 
would  he  strike  and  be  projected  over  it  on  to  the 


IN  THE  HO  AH   OF   THE  SEA.  119 

shelving-  sand  up  which  stole  the  waves  ?  He  knew  that 
the  water  eddying1  against  friable  sandstone  strata  that 
came  to  the  surface  had  eaten  them  out  with  the  wash, 
and  that  the  hard  flakes  of  slate  and  ribs  of  quartz  stood 
forth,  overhang-ing  the  cave.  Most  certainly,  therefore, 
had  Judith  fallen,  her  body  must  be  sought  on  the  sea- 
face  of  the  masking-  ridge.  The  smuggler  stood  at  the 
very  point  where  in  the  preceding  afternoon  Jamie  and 
the  dog-  had  scrambled  up  that  fin-like  blade  of  rock  and 
disappeared  from  the  astonished  •  gaze  of  Judith.  The 
moon,  smothered  behind  clouds,  and  yet,  in  a  measure 
self-assertive,  cast  sufficient  light  down  into  the  cove  to 
glitter  on,  and  transmute  into  steel,  the  sea-washed  and 
smoothed,  and  still  wet,  ridge,  sloping-  inland  as  a  sea- 
wall. As  Coppinger  stood  looking  upward  he  saw  in 
the  uncertain  light  something  caught  on  the  fangs  of 
this  saw-ridge,  moving  uneasily  this  way,  then  that, 
something  dark,  obscuring  the  glossed  surface  of  the 
rock,  as  it  might  be  a  mass  of  gigantic  sea- tangles. 

"  Judith  !  "  he  cried.  "  Is  that  you  ?  "  and  he  plunged 
through  the  pool  that  intervened,  and  scrambled  up  the 
rock. 

He  caught  something.  It  was  cloth.  "  Judith  !  Ju- 
dith !  "  he  almost  shrieked  in  anxiety.  That  which  he 
had  laid  hold  of  yielded,  and  he  gathered  to  him  a  gar- 
ment of  some  sort,  and  with  it  he  slid  back  into  the  pool, 
and  waded  on  to  the  pebbles.  Then  he  examined  his 
capture  by  the  uncertain  light,  and  by  feel,  and  con- 
vinced himself  that  it  was  a  cloak — a  cloak  with  clasp 
and  hood — just  such  as  he  had  seen  Judith  wearing 
when  he  flashed  his  lantern  over  her  on  the  platform  at 
the  mouth  of  the  shaft. 

He  stood  for  a  moment,  numbed  as  though  he  had 
been  struck  on  the  head  with  a  mallet,  and  irresolute. 
He  had  feared  that  Judith  had  fallen  over  the  edge,  but 
he  had  hoped  that  it  was  not  so.  This  discovery  seemed 
to  confirm  his  worst  fears. 

If  the  cloak  were  there — she  also  would  probably  be 
there  also,  a  broken  heap.  She  who  had  thrown  him 
down  and  broken  him,  had  been  thrown  down  herself, 
and  broken  also — thrown  down  and  broken  because  she 
had  come  to  rescue  him  from  danger.  Coppinger  put 
his  hand  to  his  head.  His  veins  were  beating  as  though 
they  would  burst  the  vessels  in  his  temples,  and  suffuse 


120  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

his  face  with  blood.  As  he  stood  thus  clasping*  his  brow 
with  his  right  hand,  the  clouds  were  swept  for  an  in- 
stant aside,  and  for  an  instant  the  maon  sent  down  a 
weird  glare  that  ran  like  a  wave  along"  the  sand,  leaped 
impediments,  scrambled  up  rocks,  and  flashed  in  the 
pools.  For  one  moment  only — but  that  sufficed  to  re- 
veal to  him  a  few  paces  ahead  a  black  heap :  there  was 
no  mistaking-  it.  The  rounded  outlines  were  not  those 
of  a  rock.  It  was  a  human  body  lying1  on  the  shingle 
half  immersed  in  the  pool  at  the  foot  of  the  reef ! 

A  cry  of  intensest,  keenist  anguish  burst  from  the 
heart  of  Coppinger.  Prepared  though  he  was  for  what 
he  must  see  by  the  finding-  of  the  cloak,  the  sight  of 
that  motionless  and  wrecked  body  was  more  than  he 
could  endure  with  composure.  In  the  darkness  that  en- 
sued after  the  moon-gleam  he  stepped  forward,  slowly, 
even  timidly,  to  where  that  human  wreck  lay,  and  knelt 
on  both  knees  beside  it  on  the  wet  sand. 

He  waited.  Would  the  moon  shine  out  again  and 
show  him  what  he  dreaded  seeing  ?  He  would  not  put 
down  a  hand  to  touch  it.  One  still  clasped  his  brow, 
the  other  he  could  not  raise  so  high,  and  he  held  it 
against  his  breast  where  it  had  lately  been  strapped. 
He  tried  to  hold  his  breath,  to  hear  if  any  sound  issued 
from  what  lay  before  him.  He  strained  his  eyes  to  see 
if  there  were  any,  the  slightest  movement  in  it.  Yet  he 
knew  there  could  be  none.  A  fall  from  these  cliffs  above 
must  dash  every  spark  of  life  out  of  a  body  that  reeled 
down  them.  He  turned  his  eyes  upward  to  see  if  the 
cloud  would  pass  ;  but  no — it  seemed  to  be  one  that  was 
all-enveloping,  unwilling  to  grant  him  that  glimpse 
which  must  be  had,  but  which  would  cause  him  acutest 
anguish. 

He  could  not  remain  kneeling  there  in  suspense  any 
longer.  In  uncertainty  he  was  not.  The  horror  was  be- 
fore him — and  must  be  faced. 

^  He  thrust  his  hand  into  his  pocket  and  drew  forth 
tinder-box  and  flint.  "With  a  hand  that  had  never  trem- 
bled before,  but  now  shaking  as  with  an  ague,  he  struck 
a  light.  The  sparks  flew  about,  and  were  long  in  ig- 
niting the  touch-wood.  But  finally  it  was  kindled,  and 
glowed  red.  The  wind  fanned  it  into  fitful  flashes,  as 
Coppinger,  stooping,  held  the  lurid  spark  over  the 
prostrate  form,  and  passed  it  up  and  down  on  the  face. 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  121 

Then  suddenly  it   fell  from  his  hand,   and  he  drew  a 
gasp.     The  dead  face  was  that  of  a  bearded  man. 

A  laugh — a  wild,  boisterous  laugh — rang  out  into  the 
night,  and  was  re-echoed  by  the  cliff,  as  Coppinger 
leaped  to  his  feet.  There  was  hope  still.  Judith  had 
not  fallen. 


CHAPTER    XVH. 

FOE  LIFE   OE  DEATH. 

Coppinger  did  not  hesitate  a  moment  now  to  leave 
the  corpse  on  the  beach  where  he  had  found  it,  and  to 
hasten  to  the  cave. 

There  was  a  third  alternative  to  which  hitherto  he  had 
given  no  attention.  Judith,  in  ascending-  the  cliff,  might 
have  strayed  from  the  track,  and  be  in  such  a  position 
that  she  could  neither  advance  nor  draw  back.  He 
would,  therefore,  explore  the  path  from  the  chimney 
mouth,  and  see  if  any  token  could  be  found  of  her  having 
so  done. 

He  again  held  his  smouldering  tinder  and  by  this 
feeble  glimmer  made  his  way  up  the  inclined  beach 
within  the  cave,  passed  under  the  arch  of  the  rock  where 
low,  and  found  himself  in  that  portion  where  was  the 
boat. 

Here  he  knew  of  a  receptacle  for  sundries,  such  as 
might  be  useful  in  an  emergency,  and  to  that  he  made 
his  way,  and  drew  from  it  a  piece  of  candle  and  a  lantern. 
He  speedily  lighted  the  candle,  set  it  in  the  lantern,  and 
then  ascended  the  chimney. 

On  reaching  the  platform  at  the  orifice  in  the  face  of 
the  rock,  it  occurred  to  him  that  he  had  forgotten  to 
bring  rope  with  him.  He  would  not  return  for  that, 
unless  he  found  a  need  for  it.  Rope  there  was  below, 
of  many  yards  length.  Till  he  knew  that  it  was  re- 
quired, it  seemed  hardly  worth  his  while  to  encumber 
himself  with  a  coil  that  might  be  too  long  or  too  short 
for  use.  He  did  not  even  know  that  he  would  find 
Judith.  It  was  a  chance,  that  was  all.  It  was  more 
probable  that  she  had  strayed  on  the  down,  and  was 
now  back  at  Polzeath,  and  safe  and  warm  in  bed. 

From  the  ledge  in  front  of  the  shaft  Coppinger  pro- 
ceeded with  caution  and  leisure,  exploring  every  portion 
of  the  ascent  with  lowered  lantern.  There  were  plenty 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  123 

of  impressions  of  feet  wherever  the  soft  and  crumbly 
beds  had  been  traversed,  and  where  the  dissolved  stone 
had  been  converted  into  clay  or  mud,  but  these  were  the 
impressions  of  the  smugglers  escaping  from  their  den. 
Step  by  step  he  mounted,  till  he  had  got  about  half-way 
up,  when  he  noticed,  what  he  had  not  previously  ob- 
served, that  there  was  a  point  at  which  the  track  left  the 
ledge  of  stratified  vertical  rock  that  had  inclined  its 
broken  edge  upward,  and  by  a  series  of  slips  mounted 
to  another  fractured  stratum,  a  leaf  of  the  story-book 
turned  up  with  the  record  of  infinite  ages  sealed  up  in 
it.  It  was  possible  that  one  unacquainted  with  the 
course  might  grope  onward,  following  the  ledge  instead 
of  deserting  it  for  a  direct  upward  climb.  As  Coppinger 
now  perceived,  one  ignorant  of  the  way  and  unprovided 
with  a  light  would  naturally  follow  the  shelf.  He  ac- 
cordingly deserted  the  track,  and  advanced  along  the 
ledge.  There  was  a  little  turf  in  one  place,  in  the  next  a 
tuft  of  armeria,  then  mud  or  clay,  and  there — assuredly  a 
foot  had  trodden.  There  was  a  mark  of  a  sole  that  was 
too  small  to  have  belonged  to  a  man. 

The  shelf  at  first  was  tolerably  broad,  and  could  be 
followed  without  risk  by  one  whose  head  was  steady ; 
but  for  how  long  would  it  so  continue  1  These  rough 
edges,  these  laminae  of  upheaved  slate  were  treacherous 
—they  were  sometimes  completely  broken  down,  forming 
gaps,  in  places  stridable,  in  others  discontinuous  for  many 
yards. 

The  footprints  satisfied  Coppinger  that  Judith  had 
crept  along  this  terrace,  and  so  had  missed  the  right 
course.  It  was  impossible  that  she  could  reach  the  sum- 
mit by  this  way— she  must  have  fallen  or  be  clinging 
at  some  point  farther  ahead,  a  point  from  which  she 
could  not  advance,  and  feared  to  retreat. 

He  held  the  lantern  above  his  head,  and  peered  before 
him,  but  could  see  nothing.  The  glare  of  the  artificial 
light  made  the  darkness  beyond  its  radius  the  deeper 
and  more  impervious  to  the  eye.  He  called,  but  received 
no  answer.  He  called  again,  with  as  little  success.  He 
listened,  but  heard  no  other  sound  than  the  mutter  of 
the  sea,  and  the  wail  of  the  wind.  There  was  nothing 
for  him  to  do  but  to  go  forward  ;  and  he  did  that  slowly, 
searchingly,  with  the  light  near  the  ground,  seeking  for 
some  further  trace  of  Judith.  He  was  obliged  to  use 


124  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

caution,  as  the  ledge  of  rock  narrowed.  Here  it  was 
Lard,  and  the  foot  passing-  over  it  made  no  impression. 
Ihen  ensued  a  rift  and  a  slide  of  shale,  and  here  he 
thought  he  observed  indications  of  recent  dislodgement. 

Now  the  foot-hold  was  reduced,  he  could  no  longer 
stoop  to  examine  the  soil;  he  must  stand  upright  and 
hold  to  the  rock  with  his  right  hand,  and  move  with 
precaution  lest  he  should  be  precipitated  below. 

Was  it  conceivable  that  she  had  passed  there  ? — there 
in  the  dark  ?  And  yet — if  she  had  not,  she  must  have 
been  hurled  below. 

Coppinger,  clinging  with  his  fingers,  and  thrusting 
one  foot  before  the  other,  then  drawing  forward  that 
foot,  with  every  faculty  on  the  alert,  passed  to  where,  for 
a  short  space,  the  ledge  of  rock  expanded,  and  there  he 
stooped  once  more  with  the  light  to  explore.  Beyond 
was  a  sheer  fall,  and  the  dull  glare  from  his  lantern 
showed  him  no  continuance  of  the  shelf.  As  he  arose 
from  his  bent  position,  suddenly  the  light  fell  on  a  hand 
— a  delicate,  childish  hand — hanging  clown.  He  raised 
the  lantern,  and  saw  her  whom  he  sought.  At  this  point 
she  had  climbed  upward  to  a  higher  ledge,  and  on  that 
she  lay,  one  arm  raised,  fastened  by  a  chain  to  a  tuft  of 
heather — her  head  fallen  against  the  rock,  and  feet  and 
one  arm  over  the  edge  of  the  cliff.  She  was  uncon- 
scious, sustained  by  a  dog-chain  and  a  little  bunch  of 
ling. 

Coppinger  passed  the  candle  over  her  face.  It  was 
white,  and  the  eyes  did  not  close  before  the  light. 

His  position  was  vastly  difficult.  She  hung  there 
chained  to  the  cliff,  and  he  doubted  whether  he  could 
sustain  her  weight  if  he  attempted  to  carry  her  back 
while  she  was  unconscious,  along  the  way  he  and  she 
had  come.  It  was  perilous  for  one  alone  to  move  along 
that  strip  of  surface ;  it  seemed  impossible  for  one  to  ef- 
fect it  bearing  in  his  arms  a  human  burden. 

Moreover,  Coppinger  was  well  aware  that  his  left  arm 
had  not  recovered  its  strength.  He  could  not  trust  her 
weight  on  that.  He  dare  not  trust  it  on  his  right  arm, 
for  to  return  by  the  way  he  came  the  right  hand  would 
be  that  which  was  toward  the  void.  The  principal 
weight  must  be  thrown  inward. 

What  was  to  be  done  ?  TJris,  primarily :  to  release 
the  insensible  girl  from  her  present  position,  in  which 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  '  125 

the  agony  of  the  strain  on  her  shoulder  perhaps  pro- 
longed her  unconsciousness. 

Coppinger  mounted  to  the  shelf  on  which  she  lay, 
and  bowing  himself  over  her,  while  holding  her,  so  that 
she  should  not  slip  over  the  edge,  he  disentangled  the 
chain  from  her  wrist  and  the  stems  of  the  heather.  Then 
he  seated  himself  beside  her,  drew  her  toward  him, 
with  his  right  arm  about  her,  and  laid  her  head  on  his 
shoulder. 

And  the  chain  ? 

That  he  took  and  deliberately  passed  it  round  her 
waist  and  his  own  body,  fastened  it,  and  muttered,  "  For 
life  or  for  death !  " 

There,  for  a  while,  he  sat.  He  had  set  the  lantern  be- 
side him.  His  hand  was  on  Judith's  heart,  and  he  held 
his  breath,  and  waited  to  feel  if  there  was  pulsation 
there ;  but  his  own  arteries  were  in  such  agitation,  the 
throb  in  his  finger  ends  prevented  his  being  able  to  sat- 
isfy himself  as  to  what  he  desired  to  know. 

He  could  not  remain  longer  in  his  present  position. 
Judith  might  never  revive.  She  had  swooned  through 
over-exhaustion,  and  nothing  could  restore  her  to  life 
but  the  warmth  and  care  she  would  receive  in  a  house ; 
he  cursed  his  folly,  his  thoughtlessness,  in  having 
brought  with  him  no  flask  of  brandy.  He  dared  remain 
no  longer  where  he  was,  the  ebbing  powers  in  the  feeble 
life  might  sink  beyond  recall. 

He  thrust  his  right  arm  under  her,  and  adjusted  the 
chain  about  him  so  as  to  throw  some  of  her  weight  off 
the  arm,  and  then  cautiously  slid  to  the  step  below,  and, 
holding  her,  set  his  back  to  the  rocky  wall. 

So,  facing  the  Atlantic  Ocean,  facing  the  wild  night 
sky,  torn  here  and  there  into  flakes  of  light,  otherwise 
cloaked  in  storm-gloom,  with  the  abyss  below,  an  abyss 
of  jagged  rock  and  shingle  shore,  he  began  to  make  his 
way  along  the  track  by  which  he  had  gained  that  point. 

He  was  at  that  part  where  the  shelf  narrowed  to  a 
foot,  and  his  safety  and  hers  depended  largely  on  the 
power  that  remained  to  him  in  his  left  arm.  With  the 
hand  of  that  arm  he  felt  along  and  clutched  every  pro- 
jecting point  of  rock,  and  held  to  it  with  every  sinew 
strained  and  starting.  He  drew  a  long  breath.  Was 
Judith  stirring  on  his  arm  ? 

The  critical  minute  had  come.     The  slightest  move- 


126  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA, 

ment,  the  least  displacement  of  the  balance,  and  both 
would  be  precipitated  below. 

"  Judith !  "  said  he,  hoarsely,  turning-  ^his  head  toward 
her  ear.  "  Judith ! " 

There  was  no  reply. 

"  Judith !  For  Heaven's  sake — if  you  hear  me — do  not 
lift  a  finger.  Do  not  move  a  muscle." 

The  same  heavy  weight  on  him  without  motion. 

"  Judith !     For  life— or  death  !  " 

Then  suddenly  from  off  the  ocean  flashed  a  tiny  spark 
— far,  far  away. 

It  was  a  signal  from  the  Black  Prince. 

He  saw  it,  fixed  his  eyes  steadily  on  it,  and  began  to 
move  sideways,  facing  the  sea,  his  back  to  the  rock, 
reaching  forward  with  his  left  arm,  holding  Judith  in 
the  right. 

"For  life!" 

He  took  one  step  sideways,  holding  with  the  disen- 
gaged hand  to  the  rock.  The  bone  of  that  arm  was  but 
just  knit.  Not  only  so,  but  that  of  the  collar  was  also 
recently  sealed  up  after  fracture.  Yet  the  salvation  of 
two  lives  hung  on  these  two  infirm  joints.  The  arm  was 
stiff;  the  muscles  had  not  recovered  flexibility,  nor  the 
sinews  their  strength. 

"  For  death  !  " 

A  second  sidelong  step,  and  the  projected  foot  slid  in 
greasy  marl.  He  dug  his  heel  into  the  wet  and  yielding 
soil,  he  stamped  in  it ;  then,  throwing  all  his  weight  on 
the  left  heel,  aided  by  the  left  arm,  he  drew  himself 
along  and  planted  the  right  beside  the  left. 

He  sucked  the  air  in  between  his  teeth  with  a  hiss. 
The  soft  soil  was  sinking— it  would  break  away.  The 
light  from  the  Black  Prince  seemed  to  rise.  With  a 
wrench  he  planted  his  left  foot  on  rock — and  drew  up 
the  right  to  it. 

"  Judith  !     For  life  !  " 

That  star  on  the  the  black  sea — what  did  it  mean  ?  He 
knew.  His  mind  was  clear,  and  though  in  intense  con- 
centration of  all  his  powers  on  the  effort  to  pass  this 
strip  of  perilous  path,  he  could  reason  of  other  things, 
and  knew  why  the  Black  Prince  had  exposed  her  light. 
The  lantern  that  he  had  borne,  and  left  on  the  shelf,  had 
been  seen  by  her,  and  she  supposed  it  to  be  a  signal 
from  the  terrace  over  the  cave. 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF*  THE  SEA.  127 

The  next  step  was  full  of  peril.  With  his  left  foot  ad- 
vanced, Coppinger  felt  he  had  reached  the  shale.  He 
kicked  into  it,  and  kicked  away  an.  avalanche  of  loose 
flakes  that  slid  over  the  edge.  But  he  drove  his  foot 
deep  into  the  slope,  and  rammed  a  dent  into  which  he 
could  fix  the  right  foot  when  drawn  after  it. 

"  For  death  !  " 

Then  he  crept  along  upon  the  shale. 

He  could  not  see  the  star  now.  His  sweat,  rolling*  off 
his  brow,  had  run  over  his  eyelids  and  charged  the 
lashes  with  tears.  In  partial  blindness  he  essayed  the 
next  step. 

"For  life!" 

Then  he  breathed  more  freely.  His  foot  was  on  the 
grass. 

The  passage  of  extreme  danger  was  over.  From  the 
point  now  reached  the  ledge  widened,  and  Coppinger 
was  able  to  creep  onward  with  less  stress  laid  on  the 
fractured  bones.  The  anguish  of  expectation  of  death 
was  lightened ;  and  as  it  lightened  nature  began  to  as- 
sert herself.  His  teeth  chattered  as  in  an  ague  fit,  and 
his  breath  came  in  sobs. 

In  ten  minutes  he  had  attained  the  summit — he  was 
on  the  down  above  the  cliffs. 

"  Judith,"  said  he,  and  he  kissed  her  cheeks  and  brow 
and  hair.  "  For  life — for  death — mine,  only  mine.5' 


CHAPTEE  XVIII 

UNA. 

When  Judith  opened  her  eyes,  she  found  herself  in  a 
strange  room,  but  as  she  looked  about  her  she  saw  Aunt 
Dionysia  with  her  hands  behind  her  back  looking-  out  of 
the  window. 

"  Oh,  aunt !     Where  am  I  f " 

Miss  Trevisa  turned. 

"  So  you  have  come  round  at  last,  or  pleased  to  pre- 
tend to  come  round.  It  is  hard  to  tell  whether  or  not 
dissimulation  was  here." 

"  Dissimulation,  aunt  ?  " 

"  There's  no  saying.  Young  folks  are  not  what  they 
were  in  my  day.  They  have  neither  the  straightfor- 
wardness nor  the  consideration  for  their  elders  and  bet- 
ters." 

"  But— where  am  I  ?  " 

"  At  the  Glaze ;  not  where  I  put  you,  but  where  you 
have  put  yourself." 

"  I  did  not  come  here,  auntie,  dear." 

"  Don't  auntie  dear  me,  and  deprive  me  of  my  natural 
sleep." 

"Havel?" 

"  Have  you  not  ?  Three  nights  have  I  had  to  sit  up. 
And  natural  sleep  is  as  necessary  to  me  at  my  age  as  is 
stays.  I  fall  abroad  without  one  or  the  other.  Give  me 
my  choice — whether  I'd  have  nephews  and  nieces  crawl- 
ing about  me  or  erysipelas,  and  I'd  choose  the  latter." 

"  But,  aunt — I'm  sorry  if  I  am  a  trouble  to  you." 

"  Of  course  you  are  a  trouble.  How  can  you  be  other  ? 
Don't  burs  stick  ?  But  that  is  neither  here  nor  there." 

"  Aunt,  how  came  I  to  Pentyre  Glaze  ? " 

"  I  didn't  invite  you,  and  I  didn't  bring  you — you  may 
be  sure  of  that.  Captain  Coppinger  found  you.  some- 
where on  the  down  at  night,  when  you  ought  to  have 
been  at  home.  You  were  insensible,  or  pretended  to  be 
so — it's  not  for  me  to  say  which." 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  120 

"  Oh,  aunt,  I  don't  want  to  be  here." 

"Nor  do  I  want  you  here — and  in  my  room,  too. 
Hoity-toity !  nephews  and  nieces  are  just  like  pigs — you 
want  them  to  go  one  way  and  they  run  the  other." 

"  But  I  should  like  to  know  where  Captain  Coppinger 
found  me,  and  all  about  it.  I  don't  remember  anything." 

"  Then  you  must  ask  him  yourself." 

"  I  should  like  to  get  up ;  may  I  ?  " 

"  I  can't  say  till  the  doctor  comes.  There's  no  telling 
—I  might  be  blamed.  I  shall  be  pleased  enough  when 
you  are  shifted  to  your  own  room,"  and  she  pointed  to  a 
door. 

"  My  room,  auntie  ?  " 

"I  suppose  so  ;  I  don't  know  whose  else  it  is." 

Then  Miss  Trevisa  whisked  put  of  the  room. 

Judith  lay  quietly  in  bed  trying  to  collect  her  thoughts 
and  recall  something  of  what  had  happened.  She  could 
recollect  fastening  her  wrist  to  the  shrub  by  her  brother's 
dog-chain ;  then,  with  all  the  vividness  of  a  recurrence  of 
the  scene — the  fall  of  the  man,  the  stroke  on  her  cheek, 
his  roll  over  and  plunge  down  the -precipice.  The  re- 
collection made  a  film  come  over  her  eyes  and  her  heart 
stand  still.  After  that  she  remembered  nothing.  She 
tried  hard  to  bring  to  mind  one  single  twinkle  of  re- 
membrance, but  in  vain.  It  was  like  looking  at  a  wall 
and  straining  the  eyes  to  see  through  it. 

Then  she  raised  herself  in  bed  to  look  about  her.  She 
was  in  her  aunt's  room,  and  in  her  aunt's  bed.  She  had 
been  brought  there  by  Captain  Coppinger.  He,  there- 
fore, had  rescued  her  from  the  position  of  peril  in  which 
she  had  been.  So  far  she  could  understand.  She  would 
have  liked  to  know  more,  but  more,  probably,  her  aunt 
could  not  tell  her,  even  if  inclined  to  do  so. 

Where  was  Jamie  ?  Was  he  at  Uncle  Zachie's  ?  Had 
he  been  anxious  and  unhappy  about  her  ?  She  hoped 
he  had  got  into  no  trouble  during  the  time  he  had  been 
free  from  her  supervision.  Judith  felt  that  she  must  go 
back  to  Mr.  Menaida's  and  to  Jamie.  She  could  not  stay 
at  the  Glaze.  She  could  not  be  happy  with  her  ever- 
grumbling,  ill-tempered  aunt.  Besides,  her  father  would 
not  have  wished  her  to  be  there. 

What  did  Aunt  Dunes  mean  when  she  pointed  to  a 
door  and  spoke  of  her  room  ? 

Judith  could  not  judge  whether  she  were  strong  till 


130  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

she  tried  her  strength.  She  slipped  her  feet  to  the  floor, 
stood  up  and  stole  over  the  floor  to  that  door  which  hei 
aunt  had  indicated.  She  timidly  raised  the  latch,  after 
listening-  at  it,  opened  and  peeped  into  a  small  apart- 
ment. To  her  surprise  she  saw  the  little  bed  she  had 
occupied  at  her  dear  home,  the  rectory,  her  old  wash- 
stand,  her  mirror,  the  old  chairs,  the  framed  pictures 
that  had  adorned  her  walls,  the  common  and  trifling  or- 
naments that  had  been  arranged  on  her  chimney-piece. 
Every  object  with  which  she  had  been  familiar  at  the 
parsonage  for  many  years,  and  to  which  she  had  said 
good-by,  never  expecting  to  have  a  right  to  them  any 
more — all  these  were  there,  furnishing  the  room  that  ad- 
joined her  aunt's  apartment. 

She  stood  looking  around  in  surprise,  till  she  heard  a 
step  on  the  stair  outside,  and,  supposing  it  was  that  of 
Aunt  Dioiiysia,  she  ran  back  to  beef,  and  dived  under  the 
clothes  and  pulled  the  sheets  over  her  golden  head. 

Aunt  Dunes  entered  the  room,  bringing  with  her  a  bowl 
of  soup.     Her  eye  at  once  caught  the  opened  door  into 
the  little  adjoining  chamber. 
"  You  have  been  out  of  bed  ! " 

Judith  thrust  her  head  out  of  its  hiding-place,  and  said, 
frankly,  "  Yes,  auntie !  I  could  not  help  myself.  I  want 
to  see.  How  have  you  managed  to  get  all  my  things  to- 
gether ?  " 

I  ?    I  have  had  nothing  to  do  with  it." 

But — who  did  it,  auntie  ?  " 

Captain  Coppinger ;  he  was  at  the  sale." 

Is  the  sale  over,  aunt  ?  " 

Yes,  whilst  you  have  been  ill." 

Oh,  I  am  so  glad  it  is  over,  and  I  knew  nothing  about 
it.' 

Oh,  exactly  !  Not  a  thought  of  the  worry  you  have 
been  to  me ;  deprived  of  my  sleep— of  my  bed — of  my 
bed,"  repeated  Aunt  Dunes,  grimly.  "  How  can  you 
expect  a  bulb  to  flower  if  you  take  it  out  of  the  earth  and 
stick  it  on  a  bedroom  chair  stirring  broth  ?  I  have  no 
patience  with  you  young  people.  You  are  consumed 
with  selfishness." 

"  But,   auntie !     Don't  be  cross.     Why   did  Captain 
Coppinger  buy  all  my  dear  crinkum-crankums  1 " 
Aunt  Dionysia  snorted  and  tossed  her  head. 
Judith  suddenly  flushed ;  she  did  not  repeat  the  ques- 


IN  THE  EOAR   OF   THE  SEA.  131 

tion,  but  said  hastily,  "  Auntie,  I  want  to  go  back  to  Mr. 
Menaida." 

"  You  cannot  desire  it  more  than  I  do,"  said  Miss  Tre- 
visa,  sharply.  "  But  whether  lie  will  let  you  go  is 
another  matter." 

"  Aunt  Dunes,  if  I  want  to  go,  I  will  go !  " 

"Indeed!" 

"  I  will  go  back  as  soon  as  ever  I  can." 

"  Well,  that  can't  be  to-day,  for  one  thing." 

The  evening  of  that  same  day  Judith  was  removed 
into  the  adjoining  room,  "  her  room,"  as  Miss  Trevisa 
designated  it.  "  And  mind  you  sleep  soundly,  and  don't 
trouble  me  in  the  night.  Natural  sleep  is  as  suitable  to 
me  as  green  peas  to  duck." 

When,  next  morning,  the  girl  awoke,  her  eyes  ranged 
round  and  lighted  everywhere  on  familiar  objects.  The 
two  mezzotints  of  Happy  and  Deserted  Auburn,  the  old 
and  battered  pieces  of  Dresden  ware,  vases  with  flowers 
encrusted  round  them,  but  with  most  of  the  petals  broken 
off — vases  too  injured  to  be  of  value  to  a  purchaser,  valu- 
able to  her  because  full  of  reminiscences — the  tapestry 
firescreen,  the  painted  fans  with  butterflies  on  them,  the 
mirror  blotched  with  damp,  the  inlaid  wafer-box  and 
ruler,  the  old  snuffer-tray.  Her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  A 
gathering  together  into  one  room  of  old  trifles  did  not 
make  that  strange  room  to  be  home.  It  was  the  father, 
the  dear  father,  who,  now  that  he  was  taken  away,  made 
home  an  impossibility,  and  the  whole  world,  however 
crowded  with  old  familiar  odds  and  ends,  to  be  desert  and 
strange.  The  sight  of  all  her  old  "  crinkum-crankums," 
as  she  had  called  them,  made  Judith's  heart  smart.  It 
was  kindly  meant  by  Coppinger  to  purchase  all  these 
things  and  collect  them  there ;  but  it  was  a  mistake  of 
judgment.  Grateful  she  was,  not  gratified. 

In  the  little  room  there  was  an  ottoman  with  a  wool- 
work cover  representing  a  cluster  of  dark  red,  pink,  and 
white  roses ;  and  at  each  corner  of  the  ottoman  was  a 
tassel,  which  had  been  a  constant  source  of  trouble  to 
Judith,  as  the  tassels  would  come  off,  sometimes  because 
the  cat  played  with  them,  sometimes  because  Jamie 
pulled  them  off  in  mischief,  sometimes  because  they 
caught  in  her  dress.  Her  father  had  embroidered 
those  dreadful  roses  on  a  buff  ground  one  winter  when 
confined  to  the  house  by  a  heavy  cold  and  cough.  She 


132  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

valued  that  ottoman  for  his  sake,  and  would  not  have 
suffered  it  to  go  into  the  sale  had  she  possessed  any 
place  she  could  regard  as  her  own  where  to  put  it.  She 
needed  no  such  article  to  remind  her  of  the  dear  father — 
the  thought  of  him  would  be  forever  present  to  her  with- 
out the  assistance  of  ottomans  to  refresh  her  memory. 

On  this  ottoman,  when  dressed,  Judith  seated  herself, 
and  let  her  hands  rest  in  her  lap.  She  was  better;  she 
would  soon  be  well ;  and  when  well  would  take  the  first 
opportunity  to  depart. 

The  door  was  suddenly  thrown  open  by  her  aunt,  and 
in  the  doorway  stood  Coppinger  looking"  at  her.  He 
raised  his  hand  to  his  hat  in  salutation,  but  said  nothing. 
She  was  startled  and  unable  to  speak.  In  another  mo- 
ment the  door  was  shut  again. 

That  day  she  resolved  that  nothing  should  detain  her 
longer  than  she  was  forced.  Jamie — her  own  dear  Jamie 
— came  to  see  her,  and  the>  twins  were  locked  in  each 
other's  arms. 

"  Oh,  Ju !  darling  Ju !  You  are  quite  well,  are  you 
not  ?  And  Captain  Coppinger  has  given  me  a  gray 
donkey  instead  of  Tib ;  and  I'm  to  ride  it  about  when- 
ever I  choose ! " 

"  But,  dear,  Mr.  Menaida  has  no  stable,  and  no  pad- 
dock." 

"  Oh,  Ju  !  that's  nothing.  I'm  coming  up  here,  and 
we  shall  be  together — the  donkey  and  you  and  me  and. 
Aunt  Dunes ! " 

"  No,  Jamie.  Nothing  of  the  sort.  Listen  to  me.  You 
remain  at  Mr.  Menaida's.  I  am  coming  back." 

"  But  I've  already  brought  up  my  clothes." 

"  You  take  them  back.  Attend  to  me.  You  do  not 
come  here.  I  go  back  to  Mr.  Menaida's  immediately." 

"  But,  Ju!  you've  got  all  your  pretty  things  from  the 
parsonage  here !  " 

"  They  are  not  mine.  Mr.  Coppinger  bought  them  for 
himself." 

"  But— the  donkey  ? " 

"Leave  the  donkey  here.  Pay  attention  to  my  words. 
I  lay  a  strict  command  on  you.  As  you  love  me,  Jamie, 
do  not  leave  Mr.  Menaida's ;  remain  there  till  my  re- 
turn." 

That  night  there  was  a  good  deal  of  noise  in  the  house. 
Judith's  room  lay  in  a  wing,  nevertheless  she  heard  the 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  133 

riot,  for  the  house  was  not  large,  and  the  sounds  from 
the  hall  penetrated  every  portion  of  it.  She  was  fright- 
ened, and  went  into  Miss  Trevisa's  room. 

"Aunt!  what  is  this  dreadful  racket  about  ? " 

"Go  to  sleep — you  cannot  have  every  one  shut  his 
mouth  because  of  you." 

"  But  what  is  it,  auntie  1 " 

"  It  is  nothing  but  the  master  has  folk  with  him,  if  you 
wish  particularly  to  know.  The  whole  cargo  of  the  Black 
Prince  has  been  run,  and  not  a  finger  has  been  laid  by 
the  coast-guard  on  a  single  barrel  or  bale.  So  they  are 
celebrating  their  success.  Go  to  bed  and  sleep.  It  is 
naught  to  you." 

"I  cannot  sleep,  aunt.     They  are  singing  now." 

"Why  should  they  not;  have  you  aught  against  it? 
You  are  not  mistress  here,  that  I  am  aware  of." 

"  But,  auntie,  are  there  many  down-stairs  ? " 

"I  do  not  know.  It  is  110  concern  of  mine — and  cer- 
tainly none  of  yours." 

Judith  was  silenced  for  a  while  by  her  aunt's  ill-humor ; 
but  she  did  not  return  to  her  room.  Presently  she 
asked — 

"  Are  you  sure,  aunt,  that  Jamie  is  gone  back  to  Pol- 
zeath  ?  "' 

Miss  Trevisa  kicked  the  stool  from  under  her  feet,  in 
her  impatience. 

"  Really  !  you  drive  me  desperate.  I  did  not  bargain 
for  this.  Am  I  to  tear  over  the  country  on  post-horses 
to  seek  a  nephew  here  and  a  niece  there  ?  I  can't  tell 
where  Jamie  is,  and  what  is  more,  I  do  not  care.  I'll  do 
my  duty  by  you  both.  I'll  do  no  more ;  and  that  has 
been  forced  on  me,  it  was  not  sought  by  me.  Heaven  be 
iny  witness." 

Judith  returned  to  her  room.  The  hard  and  sour 
woman  would  afford  her  no  information. 

In  her  room  she  threw  herself  on  her  bed  and  began  to 
think.  She  was  in  the  very  home  and  head-quarters  of 
contrabandism.  But  was  smuggling  a  sin  ?  Surely  not 
that,  or  her  father  would  have  condemned  it  decidedly. 
She  remembered  his  hesitation  relative  to  it,  in  the  last 
conversation  they  had  together.  Perhaps  it  was  not 
actually  a  sin — she  could  recall  no  text  in  Scripture  that 
denounced  it — but  it  was  a  thing  forbidden,  and  though 
she  did  not  understand  why  it  was  forbidden,  she  con- 


134  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

sidered  that  it  could  not  be  an  altogether  honorable  and 
righteous  traffic.  Judith  was  unable  to  rest.  It  was  not 
the  noise  that  disturbed  her  so  much  as  her  uneasiness 
about  Jamie.  Had  he  obeyed  her  and  gone  back  to 
Uncle  Zachie  ?  Or  had  he  neglected  her  injunction,  and 
was  he  in  the  house,  was  he  below  along  with  the  revel- 
lers ? 

She  opened  the  door  gently,  and  stole  along  the  pas- 
sage to  the  head  of  the  stairs,  and  listened.  She  could 
smell  the  fumes  of  tobacco ;  but  to  these  she  was  familiar. 
The  atmosphere  of  Mr.  Menaida's  cottage  was  redolent 
of  the  Virginian  weed.  The  noise  was,  however,  some- 
thing to  which  she  was  utterly  unaccustomed :  the  bois- 
terous merriment,  the  shouts,  and  occasional  paths. 
Then  a  fiddle  was  played.  There  was  disputation,  a 
pause,  then  the  fiddle  recommenced;  it  played  a  jig; 
there  was  a  clatter  of  feet,  then  a  roar  of  laughter — and 
then — she  was  almost  sure  she  heard  the  voice  of  her 
brother. 

Kegardless  of  herself,  thinking  only  of  him,  without  a 
moment's  consideration,  she  ran  down  the  stairs  and 
threw  open  the  door  into  the  great  kitchen  or  hall. 

It  was  full  of  men — wild,  rough  fellows — drinking  and 
smoking ;  there  were  lights  and  a  fire.  The  atmosphere 
was  rank  with  spirits  and  tobacco ;  on  a  chair  sat  a  sailor 
fiddling,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  room,  on  a  table,  was 
Jamie  dancing  a  jig,  to  the  laughter  and  applause  of  the 
revellers. 

The  moment  Judith  appeared  silence  ensued — the  men 
were  surprised  to  see  a  pale  and  delicate  girl  stand  be- 
fore them,  with  a  crown  of  gold  like  a  halo  round  her 
ivory-white  face.  But  Judith  took  no  notice  of  anyone 
there — her  eyes  were  on  her  brother,  and  her  hand  raised 
to  attract  his  attention.  Judith  had  been  in  bed,  but, 
disturbed  by  the  uproar,  had  risen  and  drawn  on  her 
gown ;  her  feet,  however,  were  bare,  and  her  magnificent 
hair  poured  over  her  shoulders  unbound.  Her  whole 
mind,  her  whole  care,  was  for  Jamie ;  on  herself  not  a 
thought  rested ;  she  had  forgotten  that  she  was  but  half 
clothed. 

"  Jamie !  Jamie  !  "  she  cried.  "  My  brother  !  my 
brother ! " 

The  fiddler  ceased,  lowered  his  violin,  and  stared  at 
her. 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  'THE  SEA.  135 

"  JIT,  let  me  alone !     It  is  such  fun,"  said  the  boy. 

"  Jamie !  this  instant  you  shall  come  with  me.  Get 
down  off  the  table  !  " 

As  he  hesitated,  and  looked  round  to  the  men  who  had 
been  applauding-  him  for  support  against  his  sister,  she 
went  to  the  table,  and  caug-ht  him  by  the  feet. 

"  Jamie  !  in  pity  to  me  !  Jamie  !  think — papa  is  but 
just  dead." 

Then  tears  of  sorrow,  shame,  and  entreaty  filled  her 
eyes. 

"  No,  Ju !  I'm  not  tied  to  your  apron-strings,"  said  the 
lad,  disengaging  himself. 

But  in  an  instant  he  was  caught  from  the  table  by 
the  strong-  arm  of  Coppinger,  and  thrust  toward  the 
door. 

"  Judith,  you  should  not  have  come  here." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Copping-er — and  Jamie !  why  did  you  let 
him— 

Copping-er  drew  the  girl  from  the  room  into  the  pas- 
sage. 

"  Judith,  not  for  the  world  would  I  have  had  you  here," 
said  he,  in  an  agitated  voice.  "  I'll  kill  your  aunt  for 
letting-  you  come  down." 

"  Mr.  Coppinger,  she  knew  nothing-  of  my  coming-. 
Come  I  must — I  heard  Jamie's  voice." 

"  Go,"  said  the  Captain,  shaking-  the  boy.  He  was 
ashamed  of  himself  and  angry.  "  Beware  how  you  dis- 
obey your  sister  again." 

Copping-er's  face  was  red  as  fire.  He  turned  to  Ju- 
dith— 

"  Your  feet  are  bare.  Let  me  carry  you  up -stairs — 
carry  you  once  more." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  As  I  came  down  so  I  can  re- 
turn." 

"  Will  you  forgive  me  ?  "  he  said,  in  a  low  tone. 

"  Heaven  forgive  you,"  she  answered,  and  burst  into 
tears.  "  You  will  break  my  heart,  I  foresee  it." 


CHAPTEE  XIX. 

A  GOLDFISH. 

Next  day — just  in  the  same  way  as  the  day  before — 
when  Judith  was  risen  and  dressed,  the  door  was  thrown 
open,  and  again  Coppinger  was  revealed,  standing  out- 
side, looking  at  her  with  a  strange  expression,  and  say- 
ing no  word. 

But  Judith  started  up  from  her  chair  and  went  to  him 
in  the  passage,  put  forth  her  delicate  white  hand,  laid 
it  on  his  cuff,  and  said :  "  Mr.  Coppinger,  may  I  speak  to 
you  ? " 

"  "Where  ?  " 

"  Where  you  like — down-stairs  will  be  best,  in  the  hall 
if  no  one  be  there." 

"  It  is  empty." 

He  stood  aside  and  allowed  her  to  precede  him. 

The  staircase  was  narrow,  and  it  would  have  been 
dark  but  for  a  small  dormer-window  through  which  light 
came  from  a  squally  sky  covered  with  driving  white 
vapors.  But  such  light  as  entered  from  a  white  and 
wan  sun  fell  on  her  head  as  she  descended — that  head  of 
hair  was  like  the  splendor  of  a  beech-tree  touched  by 
frost  before  the  leaves  fall. 

Coppinger  descended  after  her. 

When  they  were  both  in  the  hall,  he  indicated  his 
arm-chair  by  the  hearth  for  her  to  sit  in,  and  she 
obeyed.  She  was  weak,  and  now  also  nervous.  She 
must  speak  to  the  smuggler  firmly,  and  that  required 
all  her  courage. 

The  room  was  tidy ;  all  traces  of  the  debauch  of  the 
preceding  night  had  disappeared. 

Coppinger  stood  a  few  paces  from  her.  He  seemed 
to  know  that  what  she  was  going  to  say  would  displease 
him,  and  he  did  not  meet  her  clear  eyes,  but  looked  with 
a  sombre  frown  upon  the  floor. 

Judith  put  the  fingers  of  her  right  hand  to  her  heart 


I2V  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SKA.  137 

to  bid  it  cease  beating  so  fast,  and  then  rushed  into 
what  she  had  to  say,  fearing-  lest  delay  should  heighten 
the  difficulty  of  saying  it. 

"  I  am  so — so  thankful  to  you,  sir,  for  what  you  have 
done  for  me.  My  aunt  tells  me  that  you  found  and  car- 
ried me  here.  I  had  lost  my  way  on  the  rocks,  and  but 
for  you  I  would  have  died." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  raising  his  eyes  suddenly  and  look- 
ing piercingly  into  hers,  "  but  for  me  you  would  have 
died." 

"  I  must  tell  you  how  deeply  grateful  I  am  for  this  and 
for  other  kindnesses.  I  shall  never  forget  that  this 
foolish,  silly,  little  life  of  mine  I  owe  to  you." 

Agai  i  her  heart  was  leaping  so  furiously  as  to  need 
the  pressure  of  her  fingers  on  it  to  check  it. 

"  We  are  quits,"  said  Coppinger,  slowly.  "  You  came 
—yon  ran  a  great  risk  to  save  me.  But  for  you  I 
might  be  dead.  Ho  this  rude  and  worthless — this  evil 
life  of  mine,"  he  held  out  his  hands,  both  palms  before 
her,  and  spoke  with  quivering  voice — "  I  owe  to  you." 

"  Then,"  said  Judith,  "  as  you  say,  we  are  quits.  Yet 
no.  If  one  account  is  cancelled,  another  remains  un- 
closed. I  threw  you  down  and  broke  your  bones.  So 
there  still  remains  a  score  against  me." 

"  That  I  have  forgiven  long  ago,"  said  he.  "  Throw  me 
down,  break  me,  kill  me,  do  with  me  what  you  will — and 
— I  will  kiss  your  hand." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  have  my  hand  kissed,"  said  Judith, 
hastily,  "  I  let  you  understand  that  before." 

He  put  his  elbow  against  the  mantel-shelf,  and  leaned 
his  brow  against  his  open  hand,  looking  down  at  her,  so 
she  could  not  see  his  face  without  raising  her  eyes,  but 
he  could  rest  his  on  her  and  study  her,  note  her  distress, 
the  timidity  with  which  she  spoke,  the  wince  when  he 
said  a  word  that  implied  his  attachment  to  her. 

"  I  have  not  only  to  thank  you,  Captain  Coppinger, 
but  I  have  to  say  good-by." 

"What— go?" 

"  Yes — I  shall  go  back  to  Mr.  Menaida  to-day." 

He  stamped,  and  his  face  became  blood-red.  ''  You 
shall  not.  I  will  it — here  you  stay." 

"It  cannot  be,"  said  Judith,  after  a  moment's  pause 
to  let  his  passion  subside.  "You  are  not  my  guardian, 
though  very  generously  you  have  undertaken  to  be 


138  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

valuer  for  me  in  dilapidations.  I  must  go,  I  and  Ja- 
mie." 

He  shook  his  head.  He  feared  to  speak,  his  anger 
choked  him. 

"  I  cannot  remain  here  myself,  and  certainly  I  will  not 
let  Jamie  be  here." 

"Is  it  because  of  last  night's  foolery  you  say  that  ?  " 

"I  am  responsible  for  my  brother.  He  is  not  very 
clever  ;  he  is  easily  led  astray.  There  is  no  one  to 
think  for  him,  to  care  'for  him,  but  myself.  I  could 
never  let  him  run  the  risk  of  such  a  thing  happening 
again." 

"  Confound  the  boy  !  "  burst  forth  Coppinger.  "  Are 
you  going  to  bring  him  up  as  a  milk-sop  ?  You  are 
wrong  altogether  in  the  way  you  manage  him." 

"  I  can  but  follow  my  conscience." 

"  And  is  it  because  of  him  that  you  go  ? "    • 

"  Not  because  of  him  only." 

"  But  I  have  spoken  to  your  aunt ;  she  consents." 

"  But  I  do  not,"  said  Judith. 

He  stamped  again,  passionately. 

"  I  am  not  the  man  who  will  bear  to  be  disobeyed  and 
my  will  crossed.  I  say— Here  you  shall  stay." 

Judith  waited  a  moment,  looking  at  him  steadily  out 
of  her  clear,  glittering  iridescent  eyes,  and  said  slowly, 
"  I  am  not  the  girl  to  be  obliged  to  stay  where  my  com- 
mon-sense and  my  heart  say  Stay  not." 

He  folded  his  arms,  lowered  his  chin  on  his  breast, 
and  strode  up  and  down  the  room.  Then,  suddenly,  he 
stood  still  opposite  her  and  asked,  in  a  threatening  tone  : 

"  Do  you  not  like  your  room  ?  Does  that  not  please 
your  humor  ?  " 

"  It  has  been  most  kind  of  you  to  collect  all  my  little 
bits  of  rubbish  there.  I  feel  how  good  you  have  been, 
how  full  of  thought  for  me ;  but,  for  all  that,  I  cannot 
stay." 

"Why  not?" 

"  I  have  said,  on  one  account,  because  of  Jamie." 

He  bit  his  lips — "  I  hate  that  boy." 

"  Then  most  certainly  he  cannot  be  here.  He  must  be 
with  those  who  love  him." 

"  Then  stay." 

"  I  cannot — I  will  not.  I  have  a  will  as  well  as  you. 
My  dear  papa  always  said  that  my  will  was  strong." 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  139 

"  You  are  the  only  person  who  has  ever  dared  to  re- 
sist me." 

"  That  may  be ;  I  am  daring — because  you  have  been 
kind." 

"  Kind  to  you.     Yes — to  you  only." 

"It  may  be  so,  and  because  kind  to  me,  and  me  only, 
I,  and  I  only,  presume  to  say  No  when  you  say  Yes." 

He  came  again  to  the  fireplace  and  again  leaned 
against  the  mantel-shelf.  He  was  trembling  with  pas- 
sion. 

"  And  what  if  I  say  that,  if  you  go,  I  will  turn  old 
Dunes — I  mean  your  aunt — out  of  the  house  ?  " 

"You  will  not  say  it,  Mr.  Coppinger;  you  are  too 
noble,  too  generous,  to  take  a  mean  revenge." 

"  Oh !  you  allow  there  is  some  good  in  me  1  " 

"  I  thankfully  and  cheerfully  protest  there  is  a  great 
deal  of  good  in  you — and  I  would  there  were  more." 

"  Come — stay  here  and  teach  me  to  be  good — be  my 
crutch;  I  will  lean  on  you,  and  you  shall  help  me  along 
the  right  way." 

"You  are  too  great  a  weight,  Mr.  Coppinger,"  said 
she,  smiling — but  it  was  a  frightened  and  a  forced  smile. 
"  You  would  bend  and  break  the  little  crutch." 

He  heaved  a  long  breath.  He  was  looking  at  her  from 
under  his  hand  and  his  bent  brows. 

"  You  are  cruel — to  deny  me  a  chance.  And  what  if  I 
were  to  say  that  I  am  hungry,  sick  at  heart,  and  faint. 
Would  you  turn  your  back  and  leave  me  ?  " 

"  No,  assuredly  not." 

"  I  am  hungry." 

She  looked  up  at  him,  and  was  frightened  by  the  glit- 
ter in  his  eyes. 

"  I  am  hungry  for  the  sight  of  you,  for  the  sound  of 
your  voice." 

She  did  not  say  anything  to  this,  but  sat,  with  her 
hands  on  her  lap,  musing,  uncertain  how  to  deal  with 
this  man,  so  strange,  impulsive,  and  yet  so  submissive  to 
her,  and  even  appealing  to  her  pity. 

"  Mr.  Coppinger,  I  have  to  think  of  and  care  for  Jamie, 
and  he  takes  up  all  my  thoughts  and  engrosses  all  my 
time." 

"  Jamie,  again  !  " 

"  So  that  I  cannot  feed  and  teach  another  orphan." 

"  Put  off  your   departure — a  week.     Grant   mo  that. 


140  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

Then  you  will  have  time  to  get  quite  strong-,  and  also 
you  will  be  able  to  see  whether  it  is  not  possible  for 
you  to  live  here.  Here  is  your  aunt — it  is  natural  and 
rig-lit  that  you  should  be  with  her.  She  has  been  made 
your  guardian  by  your  father.  Do  you  not  bow  to  his 
directions." 

"  Mr.  Coppinger,  I  cannot  stay  here." 

"  I  am  at  a  disadvantage,"  he  exclaimed.  "  Man 
always  is  when  carrying1  on  a  contest  with  a  woman. 
Stay— stay  here  and  listen  to  me."  He  put  out  his  hand 
and  pressed  her  back  into  the  chair,  for  she  was  about  to 
rise.  "Listen  to  what  I  say.  You  do  not  know— you 
cannot  know — how  near  death  you  and  I — yes,  you  and 
I  were,  chained  together."  His  deep  voice  shook. 
"  You  and  I  were  011  the  face  of  the  cliff.  There  was  but 
one  little  strip,  the  width  of  my  hand  " — he  held  out  his 
palm  before  her — "  and  that  was  not  secure.  It  was  slid- 
ing away  under  my  feet.  Below  was  death,  certain  death 
— a  wretched  death.  I  held  you.  That  little  chain  tied 
us  two — us  two  together.  All  your  life  and  mine  hung 
on  was  my  broken  arm  and  broken  collar-bone.  I  held 
you  to  me  with  my  right  arm  and  the  chain.  I  did  not 
think  we  should  live.  I  thought  that  together — chained 
together,  I  holding  you — so  we  would  die — so  we  would 
be  found — and  my  only  care,  my  only  prayer  was,  if  so, 
that  so  we  might  be  washed  to  sea  and  sink  together,  I 
holding  you  and  chained  to  you,  and  you  to  me.  I  prayed 
that  we  might  never  be  found;  for  I  thought  if  rude 
hands  were  laid  on  us  that  the  chain  would  be  unloosed, 
my  arm  unlocked  from  about  you,  and  that  we  should  be 
carried  to  separate  graves.  I  could  not  endure  that 
thought.  Let  us  go  down  together — bound,  clasped  to- 
gother — into  the  depths  of  the  deep  sea,  and  there  rest. 
But  it  was  not  to  be  so.  I  carried  you  over  that  stage 
of  infinite  danger.  An  angel  or  a  devil — I  cannot  say 
which— held  me  up.  And  then  I  swore  that  never  in  life 
should  you  be  loosed  from  me,  as  I  trusted  that  in  death 
•\\-(i  should  have  remained  bound  together.  See  !  "  He 
put  his  hand  to  her  head  and  drew  a  lock  of  her  golden 
hair  and  wound  it  about  his  hand  and  arm.  "  You  have 
me  fast  now — fast  in  a  chain  of  gold — of  gold  infinitely 
precious  to  me— infinitely  strong — and  you  will  cast  me 
off,  who  never  thought  to  cast  you  off  when  tied  to  you 
with  a  chain  of  iron.  \Vhat  say  you  1  Will  you  stand 


JJV"  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

in  safety  on  your  cliff  of  pride  and  integrity  and  un- 
loose the  golden  band  and  say,  '  Go  down — down.  I 
know  nothing  in  you  to  love.  You  are  naught  to  me  but 
a  robber,  a  wrecker,  a  drunkard,  a  murderer — go  down 
into  Hell  ? ' ' 

In  his  quivering  excitement  he  acted  the  whole  scene, 
unconscious  that  he  was  so  doing,  and  the  drops  of 
agony  stood  on  his  brow  and  rolled — drip — drip — drip 
from  it.  Man  does  not  weep  ;  his. tears  exude  more  bitter 
than  those  that  flow  from  the  eyes,  and  they  distil  from 
his  pores. 

Judith  was  awed  by  the  intensity  of  passion  in  the 
man,  but  not  changed  in  her  purpose.  His  vehemence 
reacted  on  her,  calming  her,  giving  her  determination  to 
finish  the  scene  decisively  and  finally. 

"  Mr.  Coppinger,"  she  said,  looking  up  to  him,  who 
still  held  her  by  the  hair  wound  about  his  hand  and 
arm,  "  it  is  you  who  hold  me  in  chains,  not  I  you.  And 
so  I — your  prisoner — must  address  a  gaoler.  Am  I  to 
speak  in  chains,  or  will  you  release  me  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head,  and  clenched  his  hand  on  the  gold 
hair. 

"  Very  well,"  said  she,  "  so  it  must  be ;  I,  bound, 
plead  my  cause  with  you — at  a  disadvantage.  This  is 
what  I  must  say  at  the  risk  of  hurting  you  ;  and,  Heav- 
en be  my  witness,  I  would  not  wound  one  who  has  been 
so  good  to  me — one  to  whom  I  owe  my  life,  my  power 
now  to  speak  and  entreat."  She  paused  a  minute  to 
gain  breath  and  strengthen  herself  for  what  she  had  to 
say. 

"  Mr.  Coppinger — do  you  not  yourself  see  that  it  is 
quite  impossible  that  I  should  remain  in  this  house — 
that  I  should  have  anything  more  to  do  with  you? 
Consider  how  I  have  been  brought  up  —  what  my 
thoughts  have  been.  I  have  had,  from  earliest  child- 
hood, my  dear  papa's  example  and  teachings,  sinking 
into  my  heart  till  they  have  colored  my  very  life-blood. 
My  little  world  and  your  great  one  are  quite  different. 
What  I  love  and  care  for  is  folly  to  you,  and  your  pur- 
suits and  pleasures  are  repugnant  to  me.  You  are  an 
eagle— a  bird  of  prey." 

"  A  bird  of  prey,"  repeated  Coppinger. 

"  And  you  soar  and  fight,  and  dive,  and  rend  in  your 
own  element ;  whereas  I  am  a  little  silver  trout-  - 


142  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

"  No  " — he  drew  up  his  arm  wound  round  with  her 
hair — "  No— a  goldfish." 

"  Well,  so  be  it ;  a  goldfish  swimming  in  my  own 
crystal  element,  and  happy  in  it.  You  would  not  take 
me  out  of  it  to  gasp  and  die.  Trust  me,  Captain  Cop- 
pinger,  I  could  not — even  if  I  would — live  in  your 
world." 

She  put  up  her  hands  to  his  arm  and  drew  some  of 
the  hair  through  his  fingers,  and  unwound  it  from  his 
sleeve.  He  made  no  resistance.  He  watched  her,  in  a 
dream.  He  had  heard  every  word  she  had  said,  and  he 
knew  that  she  spoke  the  truth.  They  belonged  to  differ- 
ent realms  of  thought  and  sensation.  He  could  not 
breathe — he  would  stifle — in  hers,  and  it  was  possible — 
it  was  certain — that  she  could  not  endure  the  strong, 
rough  quality  of  his. 

Her  delicate  fingers  touched  his  hand,  and  sent  a 
spasm  to  his  heart.  She  was  drawing  away  another 
strand  of  hair,  and  untwisting  it  from  about  his  arm, 
passing  the  wavy,  fire-gold  from  one  hand  to  the  other. 
And  as  every  strand  was  taken  off,  so  went  light  and 
hope  from  him,  and  despair  settled  down  on  his  dark 
spirit. 

He  was  thinking  whether  it  would  not  have  been  bet- 
ter to  have  thrown  himself  down  when  he  had  her  in  his 
arms,  and  bound  to  him  by  the  chain. 

Then  he  laughed. 

She  looked  up,  and  caught  his  wild  eye.  There  was  a 
timid  inquiry  in  her  look,  and  he  answered  it. 

"  You  may  unwind  your  hair  from  my  arm,  but  it  is 
woven  round  and  round  my  heart,  and  you  cannot  loose 
it  thence." 

She  drew  another  strand  away,  and  released  that  also 
from  his  arm.  There  remained  now  but  one  red-gold 
band  of  hair  fastening  her  to  him.  He  looked  entreat- 
ingly  at  her,  and  then  at  the  hair. 

"  It  must  indeed  be  so,"  she  said,  and  released  herself 
wholly. 

Then  she  stood  up,  a  little  timidly,  for  she  could  not 
trust  him  in  his  passion  and  his  despair.  But  he  did 
not  stir ;  he  looked  at  her  with  fixed,  dreamy  eyes.  She 
left  her  place,  and  moved  toward  the  door.  She  had 
gone  forth  from  Mr.  Menaida's  without  hat  or  other 
cover  for  her  head  than  the  cloak  with  its  hood,  and  that 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  143 

she  had  lost.  She  must  return  bare-headed.  She  had 
reached  the  door ;  and  there  she  waved  him  a  farewell. 

"  Goldfish  !  "  he  cried. 

She  halted. 

"  Goldfish,  come  here ;  one — one  word  only." 

She  hesitated  whether  to  yield.  The  man  was  dan- 
gerous. But  she  considered  that  with  a  few  strides  he 
might  overtake  her  if  she  tried  to  escape.  Therefore 
she  returned  toward  him,  but  came  not  near  enough  for 
him  to  touch  her. 

"  Hearken  to  me,"  said  he.  "  It  may  be  as  you  say.  It 
is  as  you  say.  You  have  your  world ;  I  have  mine.  You 
could  not  live  in  mine,  nor  I  in  yours."  But  his  voice 
thrilled.  "  Swear  to  me — swear  to  me  now — that  while 
I  live  no  other  shall  hold  you,  as  I  would  have  held  you, 
to  his  side ;  that  110  other  shall  take  your  hair  and  wind 
it  round  him,  as  I  have — I  could  not  endure  that.  Will 
you  swear  to  me  that  ? — and  you  shall  go." 

"  Indeed  I  will ;  indeed,  indeed  I  will." 

"  Beware  how  you  break  this  oath.  Let  him  beware 
who  dares  to  seek  you."  He  was  silent,  looking"  on  the 
ground,  his  arms  folded.  So  he  stood  for  some  minutes, 
lost  in  thought.  Then  suddenly  he  cried  out,  "  Gold- 
fish ! " 

He  had  found  a  single  hair,  long — a  yard  long — of  the 
most  intense  red-gold,  lustrous  as  a  cloud  in  the  west 
over  the  sunken  sun.  It  had  been  left  about  his  arm  and 
hand. 

"Goldfish!" 

But  she  was  gone. 


CHAPTEK  XX. 

BOUGHT    AND    SOLD. 

Cruel  Coppinger  remained  brooding  in  the  place 
where  he  had  been  standing,  and  as  he  stood  there  his 
face  darkened.  He  was  a  man  of  imperious  will  and  vio- 
lent passions  ;  a  man  unwont  to  curb  himself ;  accus- 
tomed to  sweep  out  of  his  path  whoever  or  whatever 
stood  between  him  and  the  accomplishment  of  his  pur- 
pose ;  a  man  who  never  asked  himself  whether  that  pur- 
pose were  good  or  bad.  He  had  succumbed,  in  a  man- 
ner strange  and  surprising  to  himself,  to  the  influence 
of  Judith — a  sort  of  witchery  over  him  that  subdued  his 
violence  and  awed  him  into  gentleness  and  modesty. 
But  when  her  presence  was  withdrawn  the  revolt  of  the 
man's  lawless  nature  began.  Who  was  this  who  had 
dared  to  oppose  her  will  to  his  1  a  mere  child  of  eigh- 
teen. Women  were  ever  said  to  be  a  perverse  genera- 
tion, and  loved  to  domineer  over  men ;  and  man  was 
weak  to  suffer  it.  So  thinking,  chafing,  he  had  worked 
himself  into  a  simmering  rage  when  Miss  Trevisa  en- 
tered the  hall,  believing  it  to  be  empty.  Seeing'him, 
she  was  about  to  withdraw,  when  he  shouted  to  her  to 
stay. 

"I  beg  your  pardon  for  intruding,  sir;  I  am  in  quest 
of  my  niece.  Those  children  keep  me  in  a  whirl  like  a 
teetotum." 

"  Your  niece  is  gone." 

"  Gone  !  where  to  ?  " 

"  Back — I  suppose  to  that  old  fool,  Menaida.  He  is 
meet  to  be  a  companion  for  her  and  that  idiot,  her 
brother ;  not  I — I  am  to  be  spurned  from  her  presence." 

Miss  Trevisa  was  surprised,  but  she  said  nothing. 
She  knew  his  moods. 

"  Stand  there,  Mother  Dunes  !  "  said  Coppinger,  in  his 
anger  and  humiliation,  glad  to  have  some  one  on  whom 
he  could  pour  out  the  lava  that  boiled  up  in  his  burning 


/2V  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  145 

breast.  "  Listen  to  me.  She  has  told  me  that  we  belong- 
to  different  worlds — she  and  I — and  to  different  races, 
kinds  of  being-,  and  that  there  can  be  no  fellowship  be- 
twixt us.  Where  I  am  she  will  not  be.  Between  me  and 
you  there  is  a  great  gulf  fixed — see  you  ?  and  I  am  as 
Dives  tormented  in  my  flame,  and  she  stands  yonder, 
serene,  in  cold  and  complacent  blessedness,  and  will  not 
cross  to  me  with  her  finger  dipped  in  cold  water  to  cool 
my  tongue ;  and  as  for  my  coming-  near  to  her "  he 
laughed  fiercely — "  that  can  never  be." 

"  Did  she  say  all  that  ?  "  asked  Miss  Trevisa. 

"  She  looked  it ;  she  implied  it,  if  she  did  not  say  it 
in  these  naked  words.  And,  what  is  more,"  shouted  he, 
coming1  before  Aunt  Dionysia,  threateningly,  so  that  she 
recoiled,  "it  is  true.  When  she  sat  there  in  yonder 
chair,  and  I  stood  here  by  this  hearthstone,  and  she 
spoke,  I  knew  it  was  true ;  I  saw  it  all — the  great  g-ulf 
unspanned  by  any  bridge.  I  knew  that  none  could  ever 
bridge  it,  and  there  we  were,  apart  for  ever,  I  in  my  fire 
burning-,  she  in  Blessedness — indifferent." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  Miss  Trevisa,  "  that  Judith 
should  so  have  misconducted  herself.  My  brother 
brought  her  up  in  a  manner  to  my  mind,  most  improper 
for  a  young1  girl.  He  made  her  read  Rollin's  '  Ancient 
History,'  and  Blair's  '  Chronological  Tables,'  and  really 
upon  my  word,  I  cannot  say  what  else." 

"  I  do  not  care  how  it  was,"  said  Coppinger.  "  But 
here  stands  the  gulf." 

"  Kolliri  is  in  sixteen  octavo  volumes,"  said  Aunt  Dio- 
nysia ;  "  and  they  are  thick  also." 

Coppinger  strode  about  the  room,  with  his  hands  in  his 
deep  coat  pockets,  his  head  down. 

"  My  dear  brother,"  continued  Miss  Trevisa,  apologe- 
tically, "  made  of  Judith  his  daily  companion,  told  her 
all  he  thought,  asked  her  opinion,  as  though  she  were 
a  full-grown  woman,  and  one  whose  opinion  was  worth 
having,  whereas  he  never  consulted  me,  never  cared  to 
talk  to  me  about  anything,  and  the  consequence  is  the 
child  has  grown  up  without  that  respect  for  her  elders 
and  betters,  and  that  deference  for  the  male  sex  which 
the  male  sex  expects.  I  am  sure  when  I  was  a  girl,  and 
of  her  age,  I  was  very  different,  very  different  indeed." 

"  Of  that  I  have  not  the  smallest  doubt,"  sneered  Cop- 
pinger. "  But  never  mind  about  yourself.  It  is  of  her 


146  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

I  am  speaking.  She  is  gone,  has  left  me,  and  I  cannot 
endure  it.  I  cannot  endure  it,"  he  repeated. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Aunt  Dionysia,  "  you  must 
excuse  me  saying  it,  Captain  Coppinger,  but  you  place 
me  in  a  difficult  position.  I  am  the  guardian  of  my  niece, 
though,  goodness  knows,  I  never  desired  it,  and  I  don't 
know  what  to  think.  It  is  very  nattering  and  kind,  and 
I  esteem  it  great  goodness  in  you  to  speak  of  Judith 
with  such  warmth,  but— 

"Goodness!  kindness!"  exclaimed  Coppinger.  "I 
am  good  and  kind  to  her !  She  forced  me  to  it.  I  can 
be  nothing  else,  and  she  throws  me  at  her  feet  and 
tramples  on  me." 

"  I  am  sure  your  sentiments,  sir,  are — are  estimable ; 
but,  feeling  as  you  seem  to  imply  toward  Judith,  I 
hardly  know  what  to  say.  Bless  me  !  what  a  scourge  to 
my  shoulders  these  children  are :  nettles  stinging  and 
blistering  my  skin,  and  not  allowing  me  a  moment's 
peace !  " 

"  I  imply  nothing,"  said  Coppinger.  "  I  speak  out 
direct  and  plain  what  I  mean.  I  love  her.  She  has 
taken  me,  she  turns  me  about,  she  gets  my  heart  between 
her  little  hands  and  tortures  it." 

"  Then,  surely,  Captain,  you  cannot  ask  me  to  let  her 
be  here.  You  are  most  kind  to  express  yourself  in  this 
manner  about  the  pert  hussy,  but,  as  she  is  my  niece, 
and  I  am  responsible  for  her,  I  must  do  my  duty  by  her, 
and  not  expose  her  to  be — talked  about.  Bless  me !  " 
gasped  Aunt  Dunes, "  when  I  was  her  age  I  never  would 
have  put  myself  into  such  a  position  as  to  worry  my 
aunt  out  of  her  seven  senses,  and  bring  her  nigh  to  dis- 
traction." 

"  I  will  marry  her,  and  make  her  mistress  of  my  house 
and  all  I  have,"  said  Coppinger. 

Miss  Trevisa  slightly  courtesied,  then  said,"  I  am  sure 
you  are  over-indulgent,  but  what  is  to  become  of  me  ?  I 
have  no  doubt  it  will  be  very  comfortable  and  acceptable 
to  Judith  to  hear  this,  but — what  is  to  become  of  me  ?  It 
would  not  be  very  delightful  for  me  to  be  housekeeper 
here  under  my  own  niece,  a  pert,  insolent,  capricious 
hussy.  You  can  see  at  once,  Captain  Coppinger,  that  I 
cannot  consent  to  that." 

The  woman  had  the  shrewdness  to  know  that  she 
could  be  useful  to  Coppinger,  and  the  selfishness  that 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  147 

induced  her  to  make  terms  with  him  to  secure  her  own 
future,  and  to  show  him  that  she  could  stand  in  his  way 
till  he  yielded  to  them. 

"  I  never  asked  to  have  these  children  thrust  down  my 
throat,  like  the  fish-bone  that  strangled  Lady  Godiva — 
no,  who  was  it  ?  Earl  Godiva ;  but  I  thank  my  stars  I 
never  waded  through  Rollin,  and  most  certainly  kept 
my  hands  off  Blair.  Of  course,  Captain  Coppinger,  it  is 
right  and  proper  of  you  to  address  yourself  to  me,  as 
the  guardian  of  my  niece,  before  speaking  to  her." 

"I  have  spoken  to  her  and  she  spurns  me." 

"  Naturally,  because  you  spoke  to  her  before  address- 
ing me  on  the  subject.  My  dear  brother — I  will  do  him 
this  justice — was  very  emphatic  on  this  point.  But  you 
see,  sir,  my  consent  can  never  be  given." 

"  I  do  not  ask  your  consent." 

"  Judith  will  never  take  you  without  it." 

"  Consent  or  no  consent,"  said  Coppinger,  "  that  is  a 
secondary  matter.  The  first  is,  she  does  not  like  me. 
whereas  I — I  love  her.  I  never  loved  a  woman  before.  I 
knew  not  what  love  was.  I  laughed  at  the  fools,  as  I 
took  them  to  be,  who  sold  themselves  into  the  hands  of 
women ;  but  now,  I  cannot  live  without  her.  I  can  think 
of  nothing  but  her  all  day.  I  am  in  a  fever,  and  cannot 
sleep  at  night — all  because  she  is  tormenting  me." 

All  at  once,  exhausted  by  his  passion,  desperate  at 
seeing  no  chance  of  success,  angry  at  being  flouted  by  a 
child,  he  threw  himself  into  the  chair,  and  settled  his 
chin  on  his  breast,  and  folded  his  arms. 

"  Go  on,"  said  he.  "  Tell  me  what  is  my  way  out  of 
this." 

"  You  cannot  expect  my  help  or  my  advice,  Captain, 
so  as  to  forward  what  would  be  most  unsatisfactory  to 
me." 

ft  What !  do  you  grudge  her  to  me  ? " 

"  Not  that ;  but,  if  she  were  here,  what  would  oecome 
of  me  ?  Should  I  be  turned  out  into  the  cold  at  my  age 
by  this  red-headed  hussy,  to  find  a  home  for  myself  with 
strangers  ?  Here  I  never  would  abide  with  her  as  mis- 
tress, never." 

"  I  care  naught  about  you." 

"  No,  of  that  I  am  aware,  to  my  regret,  sir ;  but  that 
makes  it  all  the  more  necessary  for  me  to  take  care  for 
myself." 


148  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

"  I  see,"  said  Coppinger,  "  I  must  buy  you.  Is  your 
aid  worth  it  ?  Will  she  listen  to  you  1 " 

"  I  can  make  her  listen  to  me,"  said  Aunt  Dunes,  "  if 
it  be  worth  my  while.  At  my  age,  having  roughed  it, 
having  no  friends,  I  must  think  of  myself  and  provide 
for  the  future,  when  I  shall  be  too  old  to  work." 

"  Name  your  price." 

Miss  Trevisa  did  not  answer  for  a  while ;  she  was  con- 
sidering the  terms  she  would  make.  To  her  coarse  and 
soured  mind  there  was  nothing  to  scruple  at  in  aiding 
Coppinger  in  his  suit.  The  Trevisas  were  of  a  fine  old 
Cornish  stock,  but  then  Judith  took  after  her  mother, 
the  poor  Scottish  governess,  and  Aunt  Dunes  did  not 
feel  toward  her  as  though  she  were  of  her  own  kin.  The 
girl  looked  like  her  mother.  She  had  no  right,  in  Miss 
Trevisa's  eyes,  to  bear  the  name  of  her  father,  for  her 
father  ought  to  have  known  better  than  stoop  to  marry 
a  beggarly,  outlandish  governess.  Not  very  logical  rea- 
soning, but  what  woman,  where  her  feelings  are  engaged, 
does  reason  logically  ?  Aunt  Dunes  had  never  loved  her 
niece ;  she  felt  an  inner  repulsion,  such  as  sprang  from 
encountering  a  nature  superior,  purer,  more  refined  than 
her  own,  and  the  mortification  of  being  forced  to  admit 
to  herself  that  it  was  so.  Judith,  moreover,  was  costing 
her  money,  and  Miss  Trevisa  parted  with  her  hard-earned 
savings  as  reluctantly  as  with  her  heart's  blood.  She 
begrudged  the  girl  and  her  brother  every  penny  she  was 
forced,  or  believed  she  would  be  forced,  to  expend  upon 
them.  And  was  she  doing  the  girl  an  injury  in  helping 
her  to  a  marriage  that  would  assure  her  a  home  and  a 
comfortable  income  ? 

Aunt  Dionysia  knew  well  enough  that  things  went  on 
in  Pentyre  Glaze  that  were  not  to  be  justified,  that  Cop- 
pinger's  mode  of  life  was  not  one  calculated  to  make  a 
girl  of  Judith's  temperament  happy,  but — "  Hoity- 
toity  !  "  said  Miss  Trevisa  to  herself,  "  if  girls  marry, 
they  must  take  men  as  they  find  them.  Beggars  must 
not  be  choosers.  You  must  not  look  a  gift  horse  in  the 
mouth.  No  trout  can  be  eaten  apart  from  its  bones,  nor 
a  rose  plucked  that  is  free  from  thorns."  She  herself 
had  accommodated  herself  to  the  ways  of  the  house,  to 
the  moods  and  manners  of  Coppinger;  and  if  she  could 
do  that,  so  could  a  mongrel  Trevisa.  What  was  good 
enough  for  herself  was  over-good  for  Judith. 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  149 

She  had  been  saddled  with  these  children,  much 
against  her  wishes,  and  if  she  shifted  the  saddle  to  the 
shoulders  of  one  willing1  to  bear  it,  why  not  ?  She  had 
duties  to  perform  to  her  own  self  as  well  as  to  those 
thrust  on  her  by  the  dead  hand  of  that  weak,  that  incon- 
siderate brother  of  hers,  Peter  Trevisa. 

Would  her  brother  have  approved  of  her  forwarding 
this  union  ?  That  was  a  question  that  did  not  trouble 
her  much.  Peter  did  what  he  thought  best  for  his 
daughter  when  he  was  alive,  stuffing  her  head  with  Hol- 
lin  and  Blair,  and  now  that  he  was  gone,  she  must  d<3 
the  best  she  could  for  her,  and  here  was  a  chance  offered 
that  she  would  be  a  fool  not  to  snap  at. 

Nor  did  she  concern  herself  greatly  whether  Judith's 
happiness  were  at  stake.  Hoity-toity  !  girls'  happiness ! 
They  are  bound  to  make  themselves  happy  when  they 
find  themselves.  The  world  was  not  made  to  fit  them, 
but  they  to  accommodate  themselves  to  the  places  in 
which  they  found  themselves  in  the  world. 

Miss  Trevisa  had  for  some  days  seen  the  direction 
matters  were  taking,  she  had  seen  clearly  enough  the  in- 
fatuation— yes,  infatuation  she  said  it  was— that  had  pos- 
sessed Coppinger.  What  he  could  see  in  the  girl  passed 
her  wits  to  discover.  To  her,  Judith,  was  an  odious  little 
minx — very  like  her  mother.  Miss  Trevisa,  therefore,  had 
had  time  to  weigh  the  advantages  and  the  disadvantages 
that  might  spring  to  her,  should  Coppinger  persist  in  his 
suit  and  succeed;  and  she  had  considered  whether  it 
would  be  worth  her  while  to  help  or  to  hinder  his  suit. 

"You  put  things,"  said  Aunt  Dionysia,  "in  a  blunt 
and  a  discourteous  manner,  such  as  might  offend  a  lady  of 
delicacy,  like  myself,  who  am  in  delicacy  a  perfect  guava 
jelly;  but,  Captain,  I  know  your  ways,  as  I  ought  to, 
having  been  an  inmate  of  this  house  for  many  years.  It 
is  no  case  of  buying  and  selling,  as  you  insinuate,  but 
the  case  is  plainly  this :  I  know  the  advantage  it  will  be 
to  my  niece  to  be  comfortably  provided  for.  She  and 
Jamie  have  between  them  but  about  a  thousand  pounds, 
a  sum  to  starve,  and  not  to  live,  upon.  They  have  no 
home  and  no  relative  in  the  world  but  myself,  who  am 
incapable  of  giving  them  a  home  and  of  doing  anything 
for  them  except  at  an  excruciating  sacrifice.  If  Judith 
be  found,  through  your  offer,  a  home,  then  Jamie  also  is 
provided  for." 


150  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

He  said  nothing1  to  this,  but  moved  his  feet  impa- 
tiently. She  went  on :  "  The  boy  must  be  provided  for. 
And  if  Judith  become  your  wife,  not  only  will  it  be 
proper  for  you  to  see  that  he  is  so,  but  Judith  will  give 
neither  you  nor  me  our  natural  rest  until  the  boy  is  com- 
fortable and  happy." 

"  Confound  the  boy  ! " 

"  It  is  all  very  well  to  say  that,  but  he  who  would  have 
anything  to  say  to  Judith  must  reckon  to  have  to  con- 
sider Jamie  also.  They  are  inseparable.  Now,  I  assume 
that  by  Judith's  marriage  Jamie  is  cared  for.  But  how 
about  myself  1  Is  every  one  to  lie  in  clover  and  I  in 
stubble  ?  Am  I  to  rack  my  brains  to  find  a  home  for  my 
nephew  and  niece,  only  that  I  may  be  thrust  out  myself  ? 
To  find  for  them  places  at  your  table,  that  I  may  be  de- 
prived of  a  crust  and  a  bone  under  it  ?  If  no  one  else 
will  consider  me,  I  must  consider  myself.  I  am  the  last 
representative  of  an  ancient  and  honorable  family — 
She  saw  Coppinger  move  his  hand,  and  thought  he  ex- 
pressed dissent.  She  added  hastily,  "As  to  Judith  and 
Jamie,  they  take  after  their  Scotch  mother.  I  do  not 
reckon  them  as  Trevisas." 

"  Come — tell  me  what  you  want,"  said  Coppinger,  im- 
patiently. 

"I  want  to  be  secure  for  my  old  age,  that  I  do  not 
spend  it  in  the  poor-house." 

"  What  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  Give  me  an  annuity  of  fifty  pounds  for  my  life,  and 
Othello  Cottage  that  is  on  your  land." 

"  You  ask  enough." 

"  You  will  never  get  Judith  without  granting  me  that." 

"  Well — get  Judith  to  be  mine,  and  you  shall  have  it." 

"  Will  you  swear  to  it  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  give  me — I  desire  that — the  promise  in  writ- 
ing." 

"  You  shall  have  it." 

"  Then  I  will  help  you." 

"How?" 

"  Leave  that  to  me.     I  am  her  guardian." 

"  But  not  of  her  heart  ?  " 

"  Leave  her  to  me.     You  shall  win  her." 

"  How  ? " 

"  Through  Jamie." 


CHAPTEK  XXI. 

OTHELLO    COTTAGE. 

To  revert  to  the  old  life  as  far  as  possible  under  changed 
circumstances,  to  pass  a  sponge  over  a  terrible  succes- 
sion of  pictures,  to  brush  out  the  vision  of  horrors  from 
her  eyes,  and  shake  the  burden  of  the  past  off  her  head 
—if  for  a  while  only — was  a  joy  to  Judith.  She  had  been 
oppressed  with  nightmare,  and  now  the  night  was  over, 
her  brain  clear,  and  should  forget  its  dreams. 

She  and  Jamie  were  together,  and  were  children  once 
more  ;  her  anxiety  for  her  brother  was  allayed,  and  she 
had  broken  finally  with  Cruel  Cpppinger.  Her  heart 
bounded  with  relief.  Jamie  was  simple  and  docile  as  of 
old ;  and  she  rambled  with  him  through  the  lanes,  along 
the  shore,  upon  the  downs,  avoiding  only  one  tract  of 
common  and  one  cove. 

A  child's  heart  is  elastic ;  eternal  droopings  it  cannot 
bear.  Beaten  down,  bruised  and  draggled  by  the  storm, 
it  springs  up  when  the  sun  shines,  and  laughs  into 
flower.  It  is  no  eucalyptus  that  ever  hangs  its  leaves ; 
it  is  a  sensitive  plant,  wincing,  closing,  at  a  trifle,  feel- 
ing acutely,  but  not  for  long. 

And  now  Judith  had  got  an  idea  into  her  head,  that 
she  communicated  to  Jamie,  and  her  sanguine  anticipa- 
tions kindled  his  torpid  mind.  She  had  resolved  to  make 
little  shell  baskets  and  other  chimney  ornaments,  not 
out  of  the  marine  shells  cast  up  by  the  sea,  for  on  that 
coast  none  came  ashore  whole,  but  out  of  the  myriad 
snail-shells  that  strew  the  downs.  They  were  of  all  sizes, 
from  a  pin's  head  to  a  gooseberry,  and  of  various  colors 
— salmon-pink,  sulphur-yellow,  rich  brown  and  pure 
white.  By  judicious  arrangement  of  sizes  and  of  colors, 
with  a  little  gum  on  cardboard,  what  wonderful  erections 
might  be  made,  certain  to  charm  the  money  out  of  the 
pocket,  and  bring  in  a  little  fortune  to  the  jiwins. 

"  And  then,"  said  Jamie,  "  I  can  build  a  linney,  and 
rent  a  paddock,  and  keep  my  Neddy  at  Polzeath." 


152  IN  THE  EOAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

"  And,"  said  Judith,  "  we  need  be  no  longer  a  burden 
to  Auntie." 

The  climax  of  constructive  genius  would  be  exhibited 
in  the  formation  of  a  shepherd  and  shepherdess,  for 
which  Judith  was  to  paint  faces  and  hands ;  but  their 
hats,  their  garments,  their  shoes,  were  to  be  made  of 
shells.  The  shepherdess  was  to  have  a  basket  on  her 
arm,  and  in  this  basket  were  to  be  flowers,  not  made  out 
of  complete  shells,  but  out  of  particles  of  sea-shells  of 
rainbow  colors. 

"What  laughter,  what  exultation  there  was  over  the 
shepherd  and  shepherdess !  How  in  imagination  they 
surpassed  the  fascinations  of  Dresden  china  figures.  And 
the  price  at  which  they  were  to  be  sold  was  settled. 
Nothing  under  a  pound  would  be  accepted,  and  that 
would  be  inadequate  to  represent  the  value  of  such  a 
monument  of  skill  and  patience!  The  shepherd  and 
shepherdess  would  have  to  be  kept  under  glass  bells,  on 
a  drawing-room  mantel-shelf. 

Judith's  life  had  hitherto  been  passed  between  her 
thoughtful,  cultured  father  and  her  thoughtless,  infantile 
brother.  In  some  particulars  she  was  old  for  her  age, 
but  in  others  she  was  younger  than  her  years.  As  the 
companion  of  her  father,  she  had  gained  powers  of 
reasoning,  a  calmness  in  judging,  and  a  shrewdness  of 
sense  which  is  unusual  in  a  girl  of  eighteen.  But  as 
also  the  associate  of  Jamie  in  his  play,  she  had  a  childish 
delight  in  the  simplest  amusements,  and  a  readiness  to 
shake  off  all  serious  thought  and  fretting  care  in  an  in- 
stant, and  to  accommodate  herself  to  the  simplicity  of 
her  brother. 

Thus — a  child  with  a  child — Judith  and  Jamie  were  on 
the  common  one  windy,  showery  day,  collecting  shells, 
laughing,  chattering,  rejoicing  over  choice  snail-shells, 
as  though  neither  had  passed  through  a  wave  of  trouble, 
as  though  life  lay  serene  before  them. 

Judith  had  no  experience  of  the  world.  "With  her 
natural  wit  and  feminine  instinct  she  had  discovered 
that  Cruel  Coppinger  loved  her.  She  had  also  no  hesi- 
tation in  deciding  that  he  must  be  repulsed.  Should  he 
seek  her,  she  must  avoid  him.  They  could  not  possibly 
unite  their  lives.  She  had  told  him  this,  and  there  the 
matter  ended.  He  must  swallow  his  disappointment, 
and  think  no  more  about  her.  No  one  could  have  every- 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  153 

thing-  lie  wanted.  Other  people  had  to  put  up  with  re- 
jection, why  not  Coppinger  ?  It  might  be  salutary  to 
him  to  find  that  he  could  not  have  his  way  in  all  things. 
So  she  argued,  and  then  she  put  aside  from  her  all 
thought  of  the  Captain,  and  gave  herself  up  to  consider- 
ation of  snail-shell  boxes,  baskets,  and  shepherds  and 
shepherdesses. 

Jamie  was  developing  a  marvellous  aptitude  for  bird- 
stuffing.  Mr.  Menaida  had  told  Judith  repeatedly  that 
if  the  boy  would  stick  to  it,  he  might  become  as  skilful 
as  himself.  He  would  be  most  happy,  thankful  to  be  able 
to  pass  over  to  him  some  of  the  work  that  accumulated, 
and  which  he  could  not  execute.  "  I  am  not  a  profes- 
sional ;  I  am  an  amateur.  I  only  stuff  birds  to  amuse  my 
leisure  moments.  Provokingly  enough,  gentlemen  do 
not  believe  this.  They  write  to  me  as  if  I  were  a  trades- 
man, laying  their  commands  upon  me,  and  I  resent  it. 
I  have  a  small  income  of  my  own,  and  am  not  forced  to 
slave  for  my  bread  and  'baccy.  Now,  if  Jamie  will  work 
with  me  and  help  me,  I  will  cheerfully  share  profits  with 
him.  I  must  be  director— that  is  understood." 

But  it  was  very -doubtful  whether  poor  Jamie  could  be 
taught  to  apply  himself  regularly  to  the  work,  and  that 
under  a  desultory  master,  who  could  not  himself  remain 
at  a  task  many  minutes  without  becoming  exhausted  and 
abandoning  it.  Jamie  could  be  induced  to  work  only  by 
beiiig  humored.  He  loved  praise.  He  must  be  coaxed 
and  flattered  to  undertake  any  task  that  gave  trouble. 
Fortunately,  taxidermy  did  not  require  any  mental  effort, 
and  it  was  the  straining  of  his  imperfect  mental  powers 
that  irritated  and  exhausted  the  boy. 

With  a  little  cajolery  he  might  be  got  to  do  as  much 
as  did  Uncle  Zachie,  and  if  Mr.  Menaida  were  as  good  as 
his  word — and  there  could  be  little  doubt  that  so  kind, 
amiable,  and  honorable  a  man  would  be  that — Jamie 
would  really  earn  a  good  deal  of  money.  Judith  also 
hoped  to  earn  more  with  her  shell-work,  and  together  she 
trusted  they  would  be  able  to  support  themselves  with- 
out further  tax  on  Miss  Trevisa. 

And  what  a  childish  pleasure  they  found  in  scheming 
their  future,  what  they  would  do  with  their  money, 
where  they  would  take  a  house,  how  furnish  it !  They 
laughed  over  their  schemes,  and  their  pulses  fluttered  at 
the  delightful  pictures  they  conjured  up.  And  all  their 


154  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

rosy  paradise  was  to  rise  out  of  the  proceeds  of  stuffed 
birds  and  snail-shell  chimney  ornaments. 

"  Ju  !  come  here,  Ju  !  "  cried  Jamie.    • 

Then  again  impatiently,  "  Ju  !  come  here,  Ju !  " 

"  What  is  it,  dear  ? " 

"  Here  is  the  very  house  for  us.     Do  come  and  see." 

On  the  down,  nestled  against  a  wall  that  had  once  en- 
closed a  garden,  but  was  now  ruinous,  stood  a  cottage. 
It  was  built  of  wreck-timber,  thatched  with  heather  and 
bracken,  and  with  stones  laid  on  the  thatching,  which 
was  bound  with  ropes,  as  protection  against  the  wind. 
A  quaint,  small  house,  with  little  windows  under  the 
low  eaves ;  one  story  high,  the  window-frames  painted 
white ;  the  glass  frosted  with  salt  blown  from  the  sea,  so 
that  it  was  impossible  to  look  through  the  small  panes, 
and  discover  what  was  within.  The  door  had  a  gable 
over  it,  and  the  centre  of  the  gable  was  occupied  by  a 
figure-head  of  Othello.  The  Moor  of  Yenice  was  black 
and  well  battered  by  storm,  so  that  the  paint  was  washed 
and  bitten  off  him.  There  was  a  strong  brick  chimney 
in  the  midst  of  the  roof,  but  no  smoke  issued  from  it, 
nor  had  the  house  the  appearance  of  being  inhabited. 
There  were  no  blinds  to  the  windows,  there  were  no 
crocks,  no  drying  linen  about  the  house ;  it  had  a  de- 
serted look,  and  yet  was  in  good  repair. 

"  Oh,  Ju ! "  said  Jamie,  "  we  will  live  here.  Will  it 
not  be  fun  ?  And  I  shall  have  a  gun  and  shoot  birds." 

"  Whose  house  can  it  be '?  "  asked  Judith. 

"  I  don't  know.  Ju,  the  door  is  open ;  shall  we  go 
in?" 

"  No,  Jamie,  we  have  no  right  there." 

A  little  gate  was  in  the  wall,  and  Judith  looked 
through.  There  had  at  one  time  certainly  been  a  garden 
there,  but  it  had  been  neglected,  and  allowed  to  be  over- 
run with  weeds.  Roses,  escallonica,  and  lavender  had 
grown  in  untrimmed  luxuriance.  Marigolds  rioted  over 
the  space  like  a  weed.  Pinks  flourished,  loving  the 
sandy  soil,  but  here  and  there  the  rude  blue  thistle  had 
intruded  and  asserted  its  right  to  the  sea-border  land 
as  its  indigenous  home. 

Down  came  the  rain,  so  lashing  that  Judith  was  con- 
strained to  seek  shelter,  and,  in  spite  of  her  protest  that 
she  had  no  right  to  enter  Othello  Cottage,  she  passed 
the  threshold. 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  155 

No  one  was  within  but  Jamie,  who  had  not  attended 
to  her  objection ;  led  by  curiosity,  and  excusing"  himself 
by  the  rain,  he  had  opened  the  door  and  gone  inside. 

The  house  was  unoccupied,  and  yet  was  not  in  a  con- 
dition of  neglect  and  decay.  If  no  one  lived  there,  yet 
certainly  some  one  visited  it,  for  it  had  not  that  mouldy 
atmosphere  that  pervades  a  house  long-  shut  up,  nor 
were  dust  and  sand  deep  on  floor  and  table.  There  was 
furniture,  though  scanty.  The  hearth  showed  traces  of 
having-  had  a  fire  in  it  at  no  very  distant  period.  There 
were  benches.  There  were  even  tinder-box  and .  candle 
on  the  mantle-shelf. 

Jamie  was  in  high  excitement  and  delight.  This  was 
the  ogre's  cottage  to  which  Jack  had  climbed  up  the 
bean-stalk.  He  was  sure  to  find  somewhere  the  hen 
that  laid  golden  eggs,  and  the  harp  that  played  of  itself. 

Judith  seated  herself  on  one  of  the  benches  and  sort- 
ed her  shells,  leaving-  Jamie  to  amuse  himself.  As  the 
house  was  uninhabited,  it  did  not  seem  to  her  that  any 
gross  impropriety  existed  in  allowing-  him  to  run  in  and 
out  and  peep  round  the  rooms,  and  into  the  corners. 

"  Judith,"  he  exclaimed,  coming  to  her  from  an  adjoin- 
ing- room,  "  there  is  a  bed  in  here,  and  there  are  crooks 
in  the  wall ! " 

"  What  are  the  crooks  for,  dear  1  " 

"  For  climbing,  I  think." 

Then  he  ran  back,  and  she  saw  no  more  of  him  for 
a  while,  but  heard  him  scrambling-. 

She  rose  and  went  to  the  door  into  the  adjoining 
apartment  to  see  that  he  was  after  no  mischief.  She 
found  that  this  apartment  was  intended  for  sleeping1  in. 
There  was  a  bedstead  with  a  mattress  on  it,  but  no 
clothes.  Jamie  had  found  some  crooks  in  the  wall,  and 
was  scrambling  up  these,  with  hands  and  feet,  toward 
the  ceiling-,  where  she  perceived  an  opening-,  apparently 
into  the  attic. 

"  Oh,  Jamie !  what  are  you  doing  there  ? " 

"  Ju,  I  want  to  see  whether  there  is  anything-  between 
the  roof  and  the  ceiling*.  There  may  be  the  harp  there, 
or  the  hen  that  lays  golden  eggs." 

"The  shower  is  nearly  over ;  I  shall  not  wait  for  you." 

She  seated  herself  on  the  bed  and  watched  him.  He 
thrust  open  a  sliding  board,  and  crawled  through  into 
the  attic.  He  would  soon  tire  of  exploring  among  the 


156  IN  THE  HOAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

rafters,  and  would  return  dirty,  and  have  to  be  cleared 
of  cobwebs  and  dust.  But  it  amused  the  boy.  He  was 
ever  restless,  and  she  would  find  it  difficult  to  keep  him 
occupied  sitting1  by  her  below  till  the  rain  ceased,  so  she 
allowed  him  to  scramble  and  search  as  he  pleased.  Yery 
few  minutes  had  passed  before  Judith  heard  a  short 
cough  in  the  main  room,  and  she  at  once  rose  and 
stepped  back  into  it  to  apologize  for  her  intrusion.  To 
her  great  surprise  she  found  her  aunt  there,  at  the  little 
window,  measuring  it. 

"  A  couple  of  yards  will  do — double  width,"  said  Miss 
Trevisa. 

"  Auntie !  "  exclaimed  Judith.  "  Who  ever  would  have 
thought  of  seeing-  you  here  ?  " 

Miss  Trevisa  turned  sharply  round,  and  her  lips 
tightened. 

"And  who  would  have  thought  of  seeing  you  here," 
she  answered,  curtly. 

"  Auntie,  the  rain  came  on  ;  I  ran  in  here  so  as  not  to 
be  wet  through.  To  whom  does  this  house  belong  ? " 

'  To  the  master — to  whom  else  ?    Captain  Coppinger." 

'  Are  you  measuring  the  window  for  blinds  for  him  ? " 

'  I  am  measuring  for  blinds,  but  not  for  him." 

'  But — who  lives  here  ? " 

'  No  one  as  yet." 

'  Is  any  one  coming  to  live  here  ?  " 

'Yes—  I  am." 

'  Oh,  auntie  !  and  are  we  to  come  here  with  you  ?  " 

Miss  Trevisa  snorted,  and  stiffened  her  back. 

"  Are  you  out  of  your  senses,  like  Jamie,  to  ask  such 
a  question  ?  What  is  the  accommodation  here  ?  Two 
little  bedrooms,  one  large  kitchen,  and  a  lean-to  for  scul- 
lery— that  is  all — a  fine  roomy  mansion  for  three  people 
indeed ! " 

"  But,  auntie,  are  you  leaving  the  Glaze  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am.     Have  you  any  objection  to  that  I  " 

"  No,  aunt,  only  I  am  surprised.  And  Captain  Cruel 
lets  you  have  this  dear  little  cottage  ?" 

"  As  to  its  being  dear,  I  don't  know,  I  am  to  have  it ; 
and  that  is  how  you  have  found  it  open  to  poke  and  pry 
into.  I  came  up  to  look  round  and  about  me,  and  then 
found  I  had  not  brought  my  measuring  tape  with  me, 
so  I  returned  home  for  that,  and  you  found  the  door 
open  and  thrust  yourself  in." 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  157 

"  I  am  very  sorry  if  I  have  given  you  annoyance." 

"  Oh,  it's  no  annoyance  to  me.  The  place  is  not  mine 
yet." 

"  But  when  do  you  come  here,  Aunt  Dunes  ?  " 

"  When  ?  "  Miss  Trevisa  looked  at  ner  niece  with  a 
peculiar  expression  in  her  hard  face  that  Judith  noticed, 
but  could  not  interpret.  "  That,"  said  Miss  Trevisa,  "  I 
do  not  know  yet." 

"  I  suppose  you  will  do  up  that  dear  little  garden," 
said  Judith. 

Miss  Trevisa  did  not  vouchsafe  an  answer ;  she 
grunted,  and  resumed  her  measuring-. 

"  Has  this  cottage  been  vacant  for  long",  auntie  1 " 

"  Yes." 

"  But,  auntie,  some  one  comes  here.  It  is  not  quite 
deserted." 

Miss  Trevisa  said  to  herself,  "  Four  times  two  and  one 
breadth  torn  in  half  to  allow  for  folds  will  do  it.  Four 
times  two  is  eight,  and  one  breadth  more  is  ten." 

Just  then  Jamie  appeared,  shyly  peeping  through  the 
door.  He  had  heard  his  aunt's  voice,  and  was  afraid  to 
show  himself.  Her  eye,  however,  observed  him,  and  in 
a  peremptory  tone  she  ordered  him  to  come  forward. 

But  Jamie  would  not  obey  her  willingly,  and  he 
deemed  it  best  for  him  to  make  a  dash  through  the  kit- 
chen to  the  open  front  door. 

"  That  boy !  "  growled  Miss  Trevisa,  "  I'll  be  bound  he 
has  been  at  mischief." 

"  Auntie,  I  think  the  rain  has  ceased,  I  will  say  good- 
by." 

Then  Judith  left  the  cottage. 

"  Ju,"  said  Jamie,  when  he  was  with  his  sister  beyond 
earshot  of  the  aunt,  "  such  fun — I  have  something  to 
tell  you." 

"  What  is  it,  Jamie  ?  " 

"  I  won't  tell  you  till  we  get  home." 

"  Oh,  Jamie,  not  till  we  g-et  back  to  Polzeath  ?  " 

"  Well,  not  till  we  get  half-way  home — to  the  white 
gate.  Then  I  will  tell  you." 


CHAPTEB  XXII 

JAMIE'S  KIDE. 

'  Now,  Jamie  !  the  white  gate." 

"  The  white  gate  ! — what  about  that  ? "  He  had  for- 
gotten his  promise. 

'  You  have  a  secret  to  tell  me." 

Then  the  boy  began  to  laugh  and  to  tap  his  pockets. 

"  What  do  you  think,  Ju  !  look  what  I  have  found.  Do 
you  know  what  is  in  the  loft  of  the  cottage  we  were  in  1 
There  are  piles  of  tobacco,  all  up  hidden  away  in  the 
dark  under  the  rafters.  I  have  got  my  pockets  stuffed  as 
full  as  they  will  hold.  It  is  for  Uncle  Zachie.  Won't 
he  be  pleased  ? " 

"  Oh,  Jamie !  you  should  not  have  done  that." 

"  Why  not  ?     Don't  scold,  Ju  !  " 

"It  is  stealing/' 

"  No,  it  is  not.     No  one  lives  there." 

"Nevertheless  it  belongs  to  some  one,  by  whatever 
means  it  was  got,  and  for  whatever  purpose  stowed 
away  there.  You  had  no  right  to  touch  it." 

"  Then  why  do  you  take  snail-shells  ?  " 

"  They  belong  to  no  one,  no  one  values  them.  It  is 
other  with  this  tobacco.  Give  it  up.  Take  it  back 
again." 

"  What — to  Aunt  Dunes  ?    I  daren't,  she's  so  cross." 

"  Well,  give  it  to  me,  and  I  will  take  it  to  her.  She 
is  now  at  the  cottage,  and  the  tobacco  can  be  replaced." 

"  Oh,  Ju,  I  should  like  to  see  her  scramble  up  the 
wall !  " 

"  I  do  not  think  she  will  do  that ;  but  she  will  contrive 
somehow  to  have  the  tobacco  restored.  It  is  not  yours, 
and  I  believe  it  belongs  to  Captain  Cruel.  If  it  be  not 
given  back  now  he  may  hear  of  it  and  be  very  angry." 

"  He  would  beat  me,"  said  the  boy,  hastily  emptying 
his  pockets.  ''  I'd  rather  have  Aunt  Dunes'  jaw  than 
Captain  Cruel's  stick."  He  gave  the  tobacco  to  his  sis- 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  159 

ter,  but  he  was  not  in  a  good  humor.  He  did  not  see 
the  necessity  for  restoring1  it.  But  Jamie  never  dis- 
obeyed his  sister,  when  they  were  alone,  and  she  was  de- 
termined with  him.  Before  others  he  tried  to  display 
his  independence,  by  feeble  defiances  never  long-  main- 
tained, and  ending'  in  a  reconciliation  with  tears  and 
kisses,  and  promises  of  submission  without  demur  for 
the  future.  With  all,  even  the  most  docile  children, 
there  occur  epochs  when  they  try  their  wings,  strut  and 
ruffle  their  plumes,  and  crow  very  loud — epochs  of  petu- 
lance or  boisterous  outbreak  of  self-assertion  in  the  face 
of  their  guides  and  teachers.  If  the  latter  be  firm,  the 
trouble  passes  away  to  be  renewed  at  a  future  period  till 
manhood  or  womanhood  is  reached,  and  then  guide  and 
teacher  who  is  wise  falls  back,  lays  down  control,  and 
lets  the  pupils  have  their  own  way.  But  if  at  the  first 
attempts  at  mastery,  those  in  authority,  through  indiffer- 
ence or  feebleness  or  folly,  give  way,  then  the  fate  of 
the  children  is  sealed,  they  are  spoiled  for  ever. 

Jamie  had  his  rebellious  fits,  and  they  were  distressing 
to  Judith,  but  she  never  allowed  herself  to  be  conquered. 
She  evaded  provoking  them  whenever  possible ;  and  as 
much  as  possible  led  him  by  his  affection.  He  had  a 
very  tender  heart,  was  devotedly  attached  to  his  sister, 
and  appeals  to  his  better  nature  were  usually  successful, 
not  always  immediately,  but  in  the  long  run. 

Her  association  with  Jamie  had  been  of  benefit  to 
Judith ;  it  had  strengthened  her  character.  She  had 
been  forced  from  earliest  childhood  to  be  strong  where 
he  was  weak,  to  rule  because  he  was  incapable  of  ruling 
himself.  This  had  nurtured  in  her  a  decision  of  mind,  a 
coolness  of  judgment,  and  an  inflexibility  of  purpose  un- 
usual in  a  girl  of  her  years. 

Judith  walked  to  Othello  Cottage,  carrying  the  tobacco 
in  her  skirt,  held  up  by  both  hands ;  and  Jamie  saun- 
tered back  to  Polzeath,  carrying  his  sister's  basket  of 
shells,  stopping  at  intervals  to  add  to  the  collection, 
then  ensconcing  himself  in  a  nook  of  the  hedge  to  watch 
a  finch,  a  goldhammer,  or  a  blackbird,  then  stopped  to 
observe  and  follow  a  beetle  of  gorgeous  metallic  hues 
that  was  running  across  the  path. 

Presently  he  emerged  into  the  highway,  the  parish 
road  ;  there  was  no  main  road  in  those  parts  maintained 
by  toll-gates,  and  then  observed  a  gig  approach  in  which 


160  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

sat  two  men,  one  long"  and  narrow-faced,  the  other  tall, 
but  stout  and  round-faced  He  recognized  the  former 
at  once  as  Mr.  Scaiitlebray,  the  appraiser.  Mr.  Scantle- 
bray,  who  was  driving,  nudged  his  companion,  and  with 
the  butt-end  of  the  whip  pointed  to  the  boy. 

"  Heigh  !  hi -up  !  Gaffer!  "  called  Mr.  Scantlebray,  flap- 
ping his  arms  against  his  sides,  much  as  does  a  cock 
with  his  wings.  "  Come  along  ;  I  have  something  of 
urgent  importance  to  say  to  you — something  so  good 
that  it  will  make  you  squeak ;  something  so  delicious 
that  it  will  make  your  mouth  water." 

This  was  addressed  to  Jamie,  as  the  white  mare 
leisurely  trotted  up  to  where  the  boy  stood.  Then 
Scantlebray  drew  up,  with  his  elbows  at  right  angles 
to  his  trunk. 

"  Here's  my  brother  thirsting,  ravening  to  make  your 
acquaintance — and,  by  George !  you  are  in  luck's  way, 
young  hopeful,  to  make  his.  Obadiah  !  this  here  infant 
is  an  orphing.  Orphing  !  this  is  Obadiah  Scantlebray, 
whom  I  call  Scanty  because  he  is  fat.  Jump  up,  will  y', 
into  the  gig." 

Jamie  looked  vacantly  about  him.  He  had  an  idea 
that  he  ought  to  wait  for  Judith  or  go  directly  home. 
But  she  had  not  forbidden  him  to  have  a  ride,  and  a  ride 
was  what  he  dearly  loved. 

"  Are  you  coming  ? "  asked  Scantlebray  ;  "  or  do  you 
need  a  more  ceremonious  introduction  to  Mr.  Obadiah, 
eh  ?  " 

"  I've  got  a  basket  of  shells,"  said  Jamie.  "  They  be- 
long to  Ju." 

"  Well,  put  Ju's  basket  in — the  shells  won't  hurt — and 
then  in  with  you.  There's  a  nice  little  portmantle  in 
front,  on  which  you  can  sit  and  look  us  in  the  face,  and 
if  you  don't  tumble  off  with  laughing,  it  will  be  because 
I  strap  you  in.  My  brother  is  the  very  comicalest  fellow 
in  Cornwall.  It's  a  wonder  I  haven't  died  of  laughter. 
I  should  have,  but  our  paths  diverged  ;  he  took  up  the 
medical  line,  and  I  the  valuation  and  all  that,  so  my  life 
was  saved.  Are  you  comfortable  there  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Jamie,  seated  himself  where  advised. 

"Now  for  the  strap  round  ye,"  said  Scantlebray. 
"  Don't  be  alarmed ;  it's  to  hold  you  together,  lest  you 
split  your  sides  with  merriment,  and  to  hold  you  in, 
lest  you  tumble  overboard  convulsed  with  laughter. 


72V  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SKA.  1<H 

That  brother  of  mine  is  the  killingest  man  in  Great 
Britain.  Look  at  his  face.  Bless  me !  iri  church  I 
should  explode  when  I  saw  him,  but  that  I  am  engrossed 
in  my  devotions.  On  with  you,  Juno !  " 

That  to  the  gray  mare,  and  a  whip  applied  to  make 
the  gray  mare  trot  along,  which  she  did,  with  her  head 
down  lost  in  thought,  or  as  if  smelling  the  road,  to  make 
sure  that  she  was  on  the  right  track. 

''  'Tisn't  what  he  says/'  remarked  Mr.  Scantlebray,  see- 
ing a  questioning  expression  on  Jamie's  innocent  face, 
"  it's  the  looks  of  him.  And  when  he  speaks — well,  it's 
the  way  he  says  it  more  than  what  he  says.  I  was  at  a 
Charity  Trust  dinner,  and  Obadiah  said  to  the  waiter, 
'  Cutlets,  please  ! '  The  fellow  dropped  the  dish,  and  I 
stuffed  my  napkin  into  my  mouth,  ran  out,  and  went  into 
a  fit.  Now,  Scanty,  show  the  young  gentleman  how  to 
make  a  rabbit." 

Then  Mr.  Scantlebray  tickled  up  the  mare  with  the 
lash  of  his  whip,  cast  some  objurgations  at  a  horse-fly 
that-  was  hovering  and  then  darting  at  Juno. 

Mr.  Obadiah  drew  forth  a  white  but  very  crumpled 
kerchief  from  his  pocket,  and  proceeded  to  fold  it  on  his 
lap. 

"  Just  look  at  him,"  said  the  agent,  "  doing  it  in  spite 
of  the  motion  of  the  gig.  It's  wonderful.  But  his  face 
is  the  butchery.  I  can't  look  at  it  for  fear  of  letting  go 
the  reins." 

The  roads  were  unfrequented  ;  not  a  person  was  pass- 
ing as  the  party  jogged  along.  Mr.  Scantlebray  hissed 
to  the  mare  between  his  front  teeth,  which  were  wide 
apart;  then,  turning  his  eye  sideways,  observed  what 
his  brother  was  about. 

"  That's  his  carcase,"  said  he,  in  reference  to  the  im- 
mature rabbit. 

Then  a  man  was  sighted  coming  along  the  road,  hum- 
ming a  tune.  It  was  Mr.  Menaida. 

"  How  are  you  ?  Compliments  to  the  young  lady  orph- 
ing,  and  say  we're  jolly— all  three,"  shouted  Scantlebray, 
urging  his  mare  to  a  faster  pace,  and  keeping  her  up  to 
it  till  they  had  turned  a  corner,  and  Menaida  was  no 
more  in  sight. 

"  Just  look  at  his  face,  as  he's  a  folding  of  that  there 
pockyhandkercher,"  said  the  appraiser.  "  It's  exploding 
work." 


162  IN  THE  no AU   OF  THE  SEA. 

Jamie  looked  into  the  stolid  features  of  Mr.  Obadiah, 
and  laughed — laughed  heartily,  laughed  till  the  tears 
ran  down  his  cheeks.  Not  that  he  saw  aught  humorous 
there,  but  that  he  was  told  it  was  there,  he  aught  to  see 
it,  and  would  be  a  fool  if  he  were  not  convulsed  by  it. 

Precisely  the  same  thing  happens  with  us.  We  look 
at  and  go  into  raptures  over  a  picture,  because  it  is  by 
a  Royal  Academician  who  has  been  knighted  on  account 
of  his  brilliant  successes.  We  are  charmed  at  a  cantata, 
stifling  our  yawns,  because  we  are  told  by  the  art  critics 
who  are  paid  to  puff  it,  that  we  are  fools,  and  have  no 
ears  if  we  do  not  feel  charmed  by  it.  We  rush  to  read  a 
new  novel,  and  find  it  vastly  clever,  because  an  eminent 
statesman  has  said  on  a  postcard  it  has  pleased  him. 

We  laugh  when  told  to  laugh,  condemn  when  told  to 
condemn,  and  would  stand  on  our  heads  if  informed  that 
it  was  bad  for  us  to  walk  on  our  feet. 

"  There ! "  said  Mr.  Scantlebray,  the  valuer.  "  Them's 
ears." 

"  Crrrh !  "  went  Mr.  Obadiah,  and  the  handkerchief, 
converted  into  a  white  bunny,  shot  from  his  hand  up  his 
sleeve. 

"  I  can't  drive,  'pon  my  honor ;  I'm  too  ill.  You  have 
done  me  for  to-day,"  said  Scantlebray  the  elder,  the 
valuer.  "  Now,  young  hopeful,  what  say  you  ?  Will  you 
make  a  rabbit,  also  ?  I'll  give  you  a  shilling  if  you  will." 

Thereupon  Jamie  took  the  kerchief  and  spread  it  out, 
and  began  to  fold  it.  Whenever  he  went  wrong  Mr. 
Obadiah  made  signs,  either  by  elevation  of  his  brows 
and  a  little  shake  of  his  head,  or  by  pointing,  and  his 
elder  brother  caught  him  at  it  and  protested.  Obadiah 
was  the  drollest  fellow,  he  was  incorrigible,  as  full  of 
mischief  as  an  egg  is  full  of  meat.  There  was  no  trust- 
ing him  for  a  minute  when  the  eye  was  off  him. 

"  Come,  Scanty !  I'll  put  you  on  your  honor.  Look 
the  other  way."  But  a  moment  after—"  Ah,  for  shame ! 
there  you  are  at  it  again.  Young  hopeful,  you  see  what, 
a  vicious  brother  I  have ;  perfectly  untrustworthy,  but 
such  a  comical  dog.  Full  of  tricks  up  to  the  ears.  You 
should  see  him  make  shadows  on  the  wall.  He  can  rep- 
resent a  pig  eating  out  of  a  trough.  You  see  the  ears 
flap,  the  jaws  move,  the  eye  twinkle  in  appreciation  of 
the  barley -meal.  It  is  to  the  life,  and  all  done  by  the  two 
hands — by  one,  I  may  say,  for  the  other  serves  as  trough. 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF   THE  fUZA.  163 

What !  Done  the  rabbit  ?  First  rate  !  Splendid !  Here 
is  the  shilling1.  But,  honor  bright,  you  don't  deserve  it ; 
that  naughty  Scanty  helped  you." 

"  Please,"  said  Jamie,  timidly,  "  may  I  get  out  now  and 
go  liime  ? " 

"  Go  home  !     What  for  1 " 

"  I  want  to  show  Ju  my  shilling1." 

"  By  ginger !  that  is  too  rich.  Not  a  bit  of  it.  Do  you 
know  Mistress  Polgrean's  sweetie  shop  ? " 

"  But  that's  at  Wadebridge." 

"  At  Wadebridge  ;  and  why  not  ?  You  will  spend  your 
shilling  there.  But  look  at  my  brother.  It  is  distress- 
ing- j  his  eyes  are  alight  at  the  thoughts  of  the  tartlets, 
and  the  sticks  of  peppermint  sugar,  and  the  almond 
rock.  Are  you  partial  to  almond  rock,  orphin  ?  " 

Jamie's  mind  was  at  once  engaged. 

"  Which  is  it  to  be  ?  Gingerbreads  or  tartlets,  almond 
rock  or  barley -sugar  ? " 

"  I  think  I'll  have  the  peppermint,"  said  Jamie. 

"  Then  peppermint  it  shall  be.  And  you  will  give  me 
a  little  bit,  and  Scanty  a  bit,  and  take  a  little  bit  home 
to  Ju,  eh  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

''  He'll  take  a  little  bit  home  to  Ju,  Obadiah,  old 
man." 

The  funny  brother  nodded. 

"  And  the  basket  of  shells  ?  "  asked  the  elder. 

"  Yes,  she  is  making-  little  boxes  with  them  to  sell," 
said  Jamie. 

"  I  suppose  I  may  have  the  privilege  of  buying  some,'* 
said  Mr.  Scantlebray,  senior.  "  Oh,  look  at  that  brother 
of  mine  !  HOAV  he  is  screwing-  his  nose  about !  I  say, 
old  man,  are  you  ill  ?  Upon  my  life,  I  believe  he  is 
laughing." 

Presently  Jamie  got  restless. 

"  Please,  Mr.  Scantlebray,  may  I  get  out  ?     Ju  will  be- 
frightened  at  my  being  away  so  long." 

"  Poor  Ju  !  "  said  Scantlebray ,  the  elder.  "  But  no — 
don't  you  worry  your  mind  about  that.  We  passed  Uncle 
Zachie,  and  he  will  tell  her  where  you  are,  in  good  hands, 
or  rather,  nipped  between  most  reliable  knees — my 
brother's  and  mine.  Sit  still.  I  can't  stop  Juno  ;  we're 
going  down-hill  now,  and  if  I  stopped  Juno  she  would 
fall.  You  must  wait — wait  till  we  get  to  Mrs.  Pol- 


164  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

grean's."  Then,  after  chuckling1  to  himself,  Scantlebray, 
senior,  said :  "  Obadiah,  old  man,  I  wonder  what  Missie 
Ju  is  thinking- 1  I  wonder  what  she  will  say,  eh  ?  "  Again 
he  chuckled.  "  No  place  in  your  establishment  for  that 
party,  eh  1 " 

The  outskirts  of  Wadebridge  were  reached. 

"  Now  may  I  get  out  ?  "  said  Jamie. 

"  Bless  my  heart !    Not  yet.    Wait  for  Mrs.  Polgrean's." 

But  presently  Mrs.  Polgrean's  shop -window  was 
passed. 

"  Oh,  stop  !  stop  !  "  cried  Jamie.  "  We  have  gone  by 
the  sweetie  shop." 

"  Of  course  we  have,"  answered  Scantlebray,  senior. 
"  I  daren't  trust  that  brother  of  mine  in  there ;  he  has 
such  a  terrible  sweet  tooth.  Besides,  I  want  you  to  see 
the  pig  eating  out  of  the  trough.  It  will  kill  you.  If  it 
don't  I'll  give  you  another  shilling." 

Presently  he  drew  up  at  the  door  of  a  stiff,  square-built 
house,  with  a  rambling  wing  thrown  out  on  one  side.  It 
was  stuccoed  and  painted  drab — drab  walls,  drab  win- 
dows, and  drab  door. 

"  Now,  then,  young  man,"  said  Scantlebray,  cheerily, 
"  I'll  unbuckle  the  strap  and  let  you  out.  You  come  in 
with  me.  This  is  my  brother's  mansion,  roomy,  pleas- 
ant, and  comprehensive.  You  shall  have  a  dish  of  tea." 

"  And  then  I  may  go  home  I  " 

"And  then — we  shall  see;  shan't  we,  Obadiah,  old 
man  ? " 

They  entered  the  hall,  and  the  door  was  shut  and  fast- 
ened behind  them ;  then  into  a  somewhat  dreary  room, 
with  red  flock  paper  on  the  walls,  no  pictures,  leather- 
covered,  old,  mahogany  chairs,  and  a  book  or  two  on  the 
table — one  of  these  a  Bible. 

Jamie  looked  wonderingly  about  him,  a  little  disposed 
to  cry.  He  was  a  long  way  from  Polzeath,  and  Judith 
•would  be  waiting  for  him  and  anxious,  and  the  place 
into  which  he  was  ushered  was  not  cheery,  not  inviting. 

"  Now,  then,"  said  Mr.  Scantlebray,  "  young  hopeful, 
give  me  my  shilling." 

"  Please,  I'm  going  to  buy  some  peppermint  and  burnt 
almonds  for  Ju  and  me  as  I  go  back." 

"Oh,  indeed!  But  suppose  you  do  not  have  the 
chance  ?  " 

Jamie  looked  vacantly  in  his  face,  then  into  that  of  the 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  165 

stolid  brother,  who  was  not  preparing'  to  show  him  the 
pig-  feeding-  out  of  a  trough,  nor  was  he  calling  for  tea. 

"  Come,"  said  Scantlebray,  the  elder  ;  "  suppose  I  take 
charge  of  that  shilling  till  you  have  the  chance  of  spend- 
mg  it,  young-  man." 

"  Please,  I'll  spend  it  now." 

"  Not  a  bit.  You  won't  have  the  chance.  Do  you  know 
Inhere  you  are "? " 

Jamie  looked  round  in  distress.  He  was  becoming 
frightened  at  the  altered  tone  of  the  valuer. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mr.  Scantlebray,  "you're  now  an  hon- 
orable inmate  of  my  brother's  Establishment  for  Idiots, 
which  you  don't  leave  till  cured  of  imbecility.  That  shil- 
ling-, if  you  please  1 " 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

ALL  IS  FOK  THE   BEST  IN  THE   BEST  OF  WORLDS. 

Judith  returned  to  the  cottage  of  Mr.  Menaida,  trou- 
bled in  mind,  for  Aunt  Dunes  had  been  greatly  incensed 
at  the  taking"  of  the  tobacco  by  Jamie,  and  not  corre- 
spondingly gratified  by  the  return  of  it  so  promptly  by 
Judith.  Miss  Trevisa  was  a  woman  who  magnified  and 
resented  any  wrong  done,  but  minimized  and  passed 
over  as  unworthy  of  notice  whatever  was  generous,  and 
every  attempt  made  to  repay  an  evil.  Such  attempts 
not  only  met  with  no  favor  from  her,  but  were  perverted 
in  her  crabbed  mind  into  fresh  affronts  or  injuries.  That 
the  theft  of  Jamie  would  not  have  been  discovered  had 
not  Judith  spoken  of  it  and  brought  back  what  had  been 
taken,  was  made  of  no  account  by  Aunt  Dionysia ;  she 
attacked  Judith  with  sharp  reproach  for  allowing  the 
boy  to  be  mischievous,  for  indulging  him  and  suffering 
him  to  run  into  danger  through  his  inquisitiveness  and 
thoughtlessness,  "  For,"  said  Aunt  Dionysia,  "  had  the 
master  or  any  of  his  men  found  out  what  Jamie  had 
done  there  is  no  telling  how  he  might  have  been  served." 
Then  she  had  muttered :  "  If  you  will  not  take  precau- 
tions, other  folk  must,  and  the  boy  must  be  put  where  he 
can  be  properly  looked  after  and  kept  from  interfering 
with  the  affairs  of  others." 

On  reaching  Mr.  Menaida's  cottage,  Judith  called  her 
brother,  but  as  she  did  not  receive  an  answer,  she  went 
in  quest  of  him,  and  was  met  by  the  servant,  Jump.  "  If 
you  please,  miss,"  said  Jump,  "  there's  been  two  gen'le- 
men  here,  as  said  they  was  come  from  Mrs.  Trevisa,  and 
said  they  was  to  pack  and  take  off  Master  Jamie's  clothes. 
And  please,  miss,  I  didn't  know  what  to  do — they  was 
gen'lemen,  and  the  master — he  was  out,  and  you  was  out, 
miss — and  Master  Jamie,  he  wasn't  to  home  n'other." 

"  Taken  Jamie's  clothes  !  "  repeated  Judith,  in  amaze- 
ment. 

"  Yes,  miss,  they  brought  a  portmantle  a-purpose ; 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  167 

and  they'd  a  gig  at  the  door  ;  and  they  spoke  uncommon 
pleasant,  leastwise  one  o'  them  did." 

"  And  where  is  Jamie  ?     Has  he  not  come  home  ?  " 

"  No,  miss." 

At  that  moment  Mr.  Menaida  came  in. 

"What  is  it,  Judith?  Jamie?  Where  Jamie  is  1— 
why,  having1  a  ride,  seated  between  the  two  Scantle- 
brays,  in  their  gig1.  That  is  where  he  is." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Menaida,  but  they  have  taken  his  clothes !  " 

"  Whose  clothes  ?  " 

"Jamie's." 
.  "  I  do  not  understand." 

"  The  two  gentlemen  came  to  this  house  when  you  and 
I  were  out,  and  told  Jump  that  they  were  empowered  by 
my  aunt  to  pack  up  and  carry  off  all  Jamie's  clothing, 
which  they  put  into  a  portmanteau  they  had  brought 
with  them." 

"  And  then  picked  up  Jamie.  He  was  sitting  on  the 
portmanteau,"  said  Uncle  Zachie ;  then  his  face  became 
grave.  :'  They  said  that  they  acted  under  authority  from 
Mrs.  Trevisa  ? " 

"  So  Jump  says." 

"  It  can  surely  not  be  that  he  has  been  moved  to  the 
asylum." 

"  Asylum,  Mr.  Menaida  ?  " 

"  The  idiot  asylum." 

Judith  uttered  a  cry,  and  staggered  back  against  the 
wall. 

"  Jamie !  my  brother  Jamie  ! " 

"  Mr.  Obadiah  Scantlebray  has  such  a  place  at  Wade- 
bridge." 

"  But  Jamie  is  not  an  idiot." 

".Your  aunt  authorized  them — "  mused  Uncle  Zachie. 
"  Humph  !  you  should  see  her  about  it.  That  is  the  first 
step,  and  ascertain  whether  she  has  done  it,  or  whether 
they  are  acting  with  a  high  hand  for  themselves.  Ill 
look  at  my  law-books — if  the  latter  it  would  be  action 
able." 

Judith  did  not  hesitate  for  a  moment.  She  hastened 
to  Pentyre.  That  her  aunt  had  left  Othello  Cottage  she 
was  pretty  sure,  as  she  was  preparing  to  leave  it  when 
Judith  returned  with  the  tobacco.  Accordingly  she 
took  the  road  to  Pentyre  at  once.  Tears  of  shame  and 
pain  welled  up  in  her  eyes  at  the  thought  of  her  darling 


168  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

brother  being*  beguiled  away  to  be  locked  up  among1  the 
imbecile  in  a  private  establishment  for  the  insane.  Then 
her  heart  was  contracted  with  anger  and  resentment  at 
the  scurvy  trick  played  011  her  and  him:  She  did  not 
know  that  the  Scantlebrays  had  been  favored  by  pure 
accident.  She  conceived  that  men  base  enough  to  carry 
off  her  brother  would  watch  and  wait  for  the  opportunity 
when  to  do  it  unobserved  and  unopposed.  She  hardly 
walked.  She  ran  till  her  breath  failed  her,  and  the  rapid 
throbbing"  of  her  heart  would  no  longer  allow  her  to 
run.  Her  dread  of  approaching  the  Glaze  after  the 
declaration  made  by  Captain  Cruel  was  overwhelmed  in 
her  immediate  desire  to  know  something  about  Jamie, 
in  her  anguish  of  fear  for  him.  On  Coppinger  she  did 
not  cast  a  thought — her  mind  was  so  fully  engrossed  in 
her  brother. 

She  saw  nothing  of  the  Captain.  She  entered  the 
house,  and  proceeded  at  once  to  her  aunt's  apartment. 
She  found  Miss  Trevisa  there,  seated  near  the  window, 
engaged  on  some  chintz  that  she  thought  would  do  for 
the  window  at  Othello  Cottage,  when  she  took  possession 
of  it.  She  had  measured  the  piece,  found  that  it  was 
suitable,  and  was  turning  down  a  hem  and  tacking  it. 
It  was  a  pretty  chintz,  covered  with  springs  of  nonde- 
script pink  and  blue  flowers. 

Judith  burst  in  on  her,  breathless,  her  brow  covered 
with  dew,  her  bosom  heaving",  her  face  white  with  dis- 
tress, and  tears  standing-  on  her  eyelashes.  She  threw 
herself  on  her  knees  before  Miss  Trevisa,  half  crying-  out 
and  half  sobbing- : 

"  Oh,  aunt !  they  have  taken  him !  " 

"  Who  have  taken  whom  ? "  asked  the  elderly  lady, 
coldly. 

She  raised  her  eyes  and  cast  a  look  full  of  malevolence 
at  Judith.  She  never  had,  did  not,  never  would  feel 
toward  that  girl  as  a  niece.  She  hated  her  for  her 
mother's  sake,  and  now  she  felt  an  unreasonable  bitter- 
ness against  her,  because  she  had  fascinated  Coppinger 
— perhaps,  also,  because  in  a  dim  fashion  she  was  aware 
that  she  herself  was  acting  toward  the  child  in  an  un- 
worthy, unmerciful  manner,  and  we  all  hate  those  whom 
we  wrong. 

"  Auntie  !  tell  me  it  is  not  so.  Mr.  Scantlebray  and 
his  brother  have  carried  my  darling-  Jamie  away." 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF   THE  SEA.  169 

"  Well,  and  what  of  that  I  " 

"  But — will  they  let  me  have  him  back !  " 

Miss  Trevisa  pulled  at  the  chintz.  "I  will  trouble 
you  not  to  crumple  this,"  she  said. 

"  Aunt !  dear  aunt !  you  did  not  tell  Mr.  Scantlebray 
to  take  Jamie  away  from  me  1 " 

The  old  lady  did  not  answer,  she  proceeded  to  release 
the  material  at  which  she  was  engaged  from  under  the 
knees  of  Judith.  The  girl,  in  her  vehemence,  put  her 
hands  to  her  aunt's  arms,  between  the  elbows  and  shoul- 
ders, and  held  and  pressed  theni  back,  and  with  implor- 
ing- eyes  looked  into  her  hard  face. 

"  Oh,  auntie  !  you  never  sent  Jamie  to  an  asylum  I  " 

"I  must  beg-  you  to  let  go  my  arms,"  said  Miss  Tre- 
visa.  "This  conduct  strikes  me  as  most  indecorous 
toward  one  of  my  age  and  relationship." 

She  avoided  Judith's  eye,  her  brow  wrinkled,  and  her 
lips  contracted.  The  gall  in  her  heart  rose  and  over- 
flowed. 

"  I  am  not  ashamed  of  what  I  have  done." 

"  Auntie  !  "  with  a  cry  of  pain.  Then  Judith  let  go  the 
old  lady's  arms,  and  clasped  her  hands  over  her  eyes. 

"  Eeally,"  said  Miss  Trevisa,  with  asperity,  "  you  are 
a  most  exasperating  person.  I  shall  do  with  the  boy 
what  I  see  fit.  You  know  very  well  that  he  is  a  thief." 

"  He  never  took  anything  before  to-day — never — 
and  you  had  settled  this  before  you  knew  about  the  to- 
bacco ! "  burst  from  Judith,  in  anger  and  with  Hoods  of 
tears. 

"  I  knew  that  he  has  always  been  troublesome  and  mis- 
chievous, and  he  must  be  placed  where  he  can  be  prop- 
erly managed  by  those  accustomed  to  such  cases." 

:'  There  is  nothing  the  matter  with  Jamie." 

"  You  have  humored  and  spoiled  him.  If  he  is 
such  a  plague  to  all  who  know  him,  it  is  because  he 
has  been  treated  injudiciously,  He  is  now  with  men 
who  are  experienced,  and  able  to  deal  with  the  like  of 
Jamie." 

"  Aunt,  he  must  not  be  there.  I  promised  my  papa  to 
be  ever  with  him,  and  to  look  after  him." 

:'  Then  it  is  a  pity  your  father  did  not  set  this  down  in 
writing.  Please  to  remember  that  I,  and  not  you,  am 
constituted  his  guardian,  by  the  terms  of  the  will." 

"  Oh,  aunt !  aunt !  let  him  come  back  to  me ! " 


170  AY  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

Miss  Trevisa  shook  her  head. 

"  Then  let  me  go  to  him  ! " 

"  Hoity-toity  !  here's  airs  and  nonsense.  Beally,  Ju- 
dith, you  are  almost  imbecile  enough  to  qualify  for  the 
asylum.  But  I  cannot  afford  the  cost  of  you  both.  Ja- 
mie's cost  in  that  establishment  will  be  £70  in  the  year, 
and  how  much  do  you  suppose  that  you  possess  ? " 

Judith  remained  kneeling  upright,  with  her  hands 
clasped,  looking  earnestly  through  her  tears  at  her 
aunt. 

"  You  have  in  all,  between  you,  but  £45  or  £50.  When 
the  dilapidations  are  paid,  and  the  expenses  of  the  fu- 
neral, and  the  will-proving,  and  all  that,  I  do  not  suppose 
you  will  be  found  to  have  a  thousand  pounds  between 
you,  and  that  put  out  to  interest  will  not  bring  you 
more  than  I  have  said ;  so  I  shall  have  to  make  up 
the  deficiency.  That  is  not  pleasing  to  me,  you  may 
well  suppose.  But  I  had  rather  pay  £25  out  of  my 
poor  income,  than  have  the  name  of  the  family  disgraced 
by  Jamie." 

"Jamie  will  never,  never  disgrace  the  name.  He  is  too 
good.  And — it  is  wicked,  it  is  cruel  to  put  him  where 
you  have.  He  is  not  an  idiot." 

"  I  am  perhaps  a  better  judge  than  you ;  so  also  is 
Mr.  Obadiah  Scaiitlebray,  who  has  devoted  his  life  to  the 
care  and  study  of  the  imbecile.  Your  brother  has  weak 
intellects." 

"  He  is  not  clever,  that  is  all.     With  application— 

"He  cannot  apply  his  rnind.  He  has  no  mind  that 
can  be  got  to  be  applied." 

"Aunt,  he's  no  idiot.  He  must  not  be  kept  in  that 
place." 

"  You  had  best  go  back  to  Polzeath.  I  have  decided 
on  what  I  considered  right.  I  have  done  my  duty." 

"It  cannot  be  just.  I  will  see  what  Mr.  Menaida 
says.  He  must  be  released ;  if  you  will  not  let  him  out, 
I  will." 

Miss  Trevisa  looked  up  at  her  quickly  between  her 
half-closed  lids;  a  bitter,  cruel  smile  quivered  about  her 
lips.  "If  any  one  can  deliver  him,  it  will  be  you." 

Judith  did  not  understand  her  meaning,  and  Aunt 
Dionysia  did  not  care  at  that  time  to  further  enlighten 
her  thereon.  Finding  her  aunt  inflexible,  the  unhappy 
girl  left  Pentyre  Glaze  and  hurried  back  to  Polzeath, 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  171 

where  she  implored  Mr.  Menaida  to  accompany  her  to 
Wade  bridge.  Go  there  she  would— she  must — that 
same  evening1.  If  he  would  not  attend  her,  she  would 
go  alone.  She  could  not  rest,  she  could  not  remain  in 
the  house,  till  she  had  been  to  the  place  where  Jamie 
was,  and  seen  whether  she  could  not  release  him  thence 
by  her  entreaties,  her  urgency. 

Mr.  Menaida  shook  his  head.  But  he  was  a  kind- 
hearted  old  man,  and  was  distressed  at  the  misery  of 
the  girl,  and  would  not  hear  of  her  making  the  expedi- 
tion alone,  as  she  could  not  well  return  before  dark. 
80  he  assumed  his  rough  and  shabby  beaver  hat,  put 
011  his  best  cravat,  and  sallied  forth  with  Judith  upon 
her  journey  to  Wadebridge,  one  that  he  assured  her 
must  be  fruitless,  and  had  better  be  postponed  till  the 
morrow. 

"  I  cannot !  I  cannot !  "  she  cried.  "  I  cannot  sleep, 
thinking  of  my  darling  brother  in  that  dreadful  place, 
with  such  people  about  him,  he  crying,  frightened,  driven 
mad  by  the  strangeness  of  it  all,  and  being  away  from 
me.  I  must  go.  If  I  cannot  save  him  and  bring  him 
back  with  me,  I  can  see  him  and  console  him,  and  bid 
him  wait  in  patience  and  hope." 

Mr.  Menaida  with  a  soft  heart  and  a  weak  will,  was 
hung  about  with  scraps  of  old-world  polish,  scraps  only. 
In  him  nothing  was  complete — here  and  there  a  bare 
place  of  rustic  uncouthness,  there  patches  of  velvet 
courtesy  of  the  Queen  Anne  age ;  so,  also,  was  he 
made  up  of  fine  culture,  of  classic  learning  alternating1 
with  boorish  ignorance—here  high  principle,  there  none 
at  all— a  picture  worked  to  a  miniature  in  points,  and 
in  others  rudely  roughed  in  and  neglected.  Now  he 
was  moved  as  he  had  not  been  moved  for  years  by  the 
manifest  unhappiness  of  the  girl,  and  he  was  willing  to 
do  his  utmost  to  assist  her,  but  that  utmost  consisted 
in  little  more  than  accompanying  her  to  "Wadebridge  and 
ringing  at  the  house-bell  of  Mr.  Obadiah  Scantlebray's 
establishment.  When  it  came  to  the  interview  that 
ensued  with  the  proprietor  of  the  establishment  and 
jailer  of  Jamie,  he  failed  altogether.  Judith  and 
ITncle  Zachie  were  shown  into  the  dreary  parlor 
without  ornaments,  and  presently  to  them  entered  Mr. 
Obadiah. 

"  Oh,  sir,  is  he  here  ? — have  you  got  Jamie  here  ?  " 


172  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

Mr.  Scantlebray  nodded  his  head,  then  went  to  the 
door  and  knocked  with  his  fists  against  the  wall.  A 
servant  maid  appeared.  '•  Send  missus,"  said  he,  and 
returned  to  the  parlor. 

Again  Judith  entreated  to  be  told  if  her  brother  were 
there  with  all  the  vehemence  and  fervor  of  her  tattered 
heart. 

Mr.  Obadiah  listened  with  stolid  face  and  vacant  eyes 
that  turned  from  her  to  Mr.  Menaida,  and  then  back  to 
her  again.  Presently  an  idea  occurred  to  him  and  his 
face  brightened.  He  went  to  a  sideboard,  opened  a  long 
drawer,  brought  out  a  large  book,  thrust  it  before  Judith, 
and  said,  "  Pictures."  Then,  as  she  took  no  notice  of  the 
book,  he  opened  it. 

"  Oh,  please  sir,"  pleaded  Judith,  "  I  don't  want 
that.  I  want  to  know  about  Jamie.  I  want  to  see 
him." 

Then  in  at  the  door  came  a  lady  in  black  silk,  with 
small  curls  about  her  brow.  She  was  stout,  but  not 
florid. 

"  What ! "  said  she,  "  my  dear,  are  you  the  young- 
lady  whose  brother  is  here"?  Don't  you  fret  yourself. 
He  is  as  comfortable  as  a  chick  in  a  feathered  nest. 
Don't  you  worry  your  little  self  about  him  now.  Now 
your  good  days  have  begun.  He  will  not  be  a  trouble 
and  anxiety  to  you  any  more.  He  is  well  cared  for.  I 
dare  be  sworn  he  has  given  you  many  an  hour  of 
anxiety.  Now,  O  be  joyful !  that  is  over,  and  you  can 
dance  and  play  with  a  light  heart.  I  have  lifted  the 
load  off  you,  I  and  Mr.  Scantlebray.  Here  he  will  be 
very  comfortable  and  perfectly  happy.  I  spare  no  pains 
to  make  my  pets  snug,  and  Scantlebray  is  inexhaust- 
ible in  his  ability  to  amuse  them.  He  has  a  way  with 
these  innocents  that  is  quite  marvellous.  Wait  a  while 
— give  him  and  me  a  trial,  and  see  what  the  result  is. 
You  may  believe  me  as  one  of  long  and  tried  experience. 
It  never  does  for  amateurs — for  relations— to  undertake 
these  cases ;  they  don't  know  when  to  be  firm,  or  when 
to  yield.  We  do —  it  is  our  profession.  W7e  have  studied 
the  half-witted." 

"  But  my  brother  is  not  half-witted." 

"  So  you  say,  and  so  it  becomes  you  to  say.  Never 
admit  that  there  is  imbecility  or  insanity  in  the  family. 
You  are  quite  right,  my  dear  ;  you  look  forward  to  be 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  173 

ing-  married  some  day,  and  you  know  very  well  it  might 
stand  in  the  way  of  an  engagement,  were  it  supposed 
that  you  had  idiocy  in  the  family  blood.  It  is  quite 
right.  I  understand  all  that  sort  of  thing-.  We  call  it 
nervous  debility,  and  insanity  we  term  nervous  excite- 
ment. Scantlebray,  my  poppet,  isn't  it  so !  " 

Mr.  Obadiah  nodded. 

"You  leave  all  care  to  us;  thrust  it  upon  our 
shoulders.  They  will  bear  it;  and  never  doubt  that 
your  brother  will  be  cared  for  in  body  and  in  soul.  In 
body  —  always  something-  nice  and  light  for  supper, 
tapioca,  rice-pudding-,  batter ;  to-night,  roily-poly.  After 
that,  prayers.  We  don't  feed  high,  but  we  feed  suitably. 
If  you  like  to  pay  a  little  extra,  we  will  feed  higher. 
Now,  my  dear,  you  take  all  as  for  the  best,  and  rely  on  it 
everything-  is  right." 

"  But  Jamie  ought  not  to  be  locked  up." 

"  My  dear,  he  is  at  school  under  the  wisest  and  most 
experienced  of  teachers.  You  have  mismanaged  him. 
Now  he  will  be  treated  professionally  ;  and  Mr.  Scantle- 
bray  superintends  not  the  studies  only,  but  the  amuse- 
ments of  the  pupils.  He  has  such  a  fund  of  humor  in 
him."  Obadiah  at  once  produced  his  pocket-handkerchief 
and  began  to  fold  it.  "  No,  dear,  no  ducky,  no  rabbit 
now  !  You  fond  thing-,  you !  always  thinking  of  giving 
entertainment  to  some  one.  No,  nor  the  parson  preach- 
ing- either."  He  was  rolling  his  hands  together  and 
thrusting  up  his  thumb  as  the  representative  of  a  sacred 
orator  in  his  pulpit.  "  No,  ducky  darling !  another  time. 
My  husband  is  quite  a  godsend  to  the  nervously  pros- 
trate. He  can  amuse  them  by  the  hour;  he  never 
wearies  of  it ;  he  is  never  so  happy  as  when  he  is  enter- 
taining them.  You  cannot  doubt  that  your  brother  will 
be  content  in  the  house  of  such  a  man.  Take  my  word 
for  it ;  there  is  nothing  like  believing  that  all  is  for  the 
best  as  it  is.  Our  pupils  will  soon  be  going  to  bed. 
Eolly-poly  and  prayers,  and  then  to  bed — that  is  the 
order." 

"  Oh,  let  me  see  Jamie  now." 

"  No,  my  dear.  It  would  be  injudicious.  He  is  set- 
tling in ;  he  is  becoming  reconciled,  and  it  would  disturb 
him,  and  undo  what  has  already  been  done.  Don't  you 
say  so,  poppet  ?  " 

The  poppet  nodded  his  head. 


174  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

"You  see,  this  great  authority  agrees  with  me.  Now, 
this  evening  Jamie  and  the  others  shall  have  an  extra 
treat.  They  shall  have  the  pig  eating  out  of  the  trough. 
There — what  more  can  you  desire  ?  As  soon  as  lights 
are  brought  in,  then  roily -poly,  prayers,  and  the  pig  and 
the  trough.  Another  time  you  shall  see  him.  Not  to- 
night. It  is  inadvisable.  Take  my  word  for  it,  your 
brother  is  as  happy  as  a  boy  can  be.  He  has  found 
plenty  of  companions  of  the  same  condition  as  himself." 

"  But  he  is  not  an  idiot." 

"  My  dear,  we  know  all  about  that ;  very  nice  and 
sweet  for  you  to  say  so — isn't  it  diickie  1 " 

The  duckie  agreed  it  was  so. 

"  There  is  the  bell.  My  dear,  another  time.  You  will 
promise  to  come  and  see  me  again  1  I  have  had  such  a 
delightful  talk  with  you.  Good-night,  good-night.  '  All 
is  for  the  best  in  the  best  of  worlds.'  Put  that  maxim 
under  your  head  and  sleep  upon  it." 


CHAPTEE  XXIV. 

A  NIGHT  EXCUESION. 

Some  people  are  ever  satisfied  with  what  is  certain  to 
give  themselves  least  trouble,  especially  if  that  some- 
thing- concerns  other  persons. 

Mr.  Menaida  was  won  over  by  the  volubility  of  Mrs. 
Scantlebray.  and  the  placidity  of  Mr.  Scantlebray  to  the 
conviction  that  Jamie  was  in  the  very  best  place  he 
could  possibly  be  in.  A  lady  who  called  Judith  "  my 
dear"  and  her  husband  "duckie"  must  have  a  kindly 
heart,  and  a  gentleman  like  Mr.  Obadiah,  so  full  of  re- 
sources, could  not  fail  to  divert  and  gratify  the  minds  of 
those  under,  his  charge,  and  banish  care  and  sorrow.  And 
as  Mr.  Menaida  perceived  that  it  would  be  a  difficult 
matter  to  liberate  Jamie  from  the  establishment  where 
he  was,  and  as  it  was  an  easy  matter  to  conclude  that  the 
establishment  was  admirably  adapted  to  Jamie,  he  was 
content  that  Aunt  Dionysia  had.  chosen  the  wisest  course 
in  putting  him  there,  and  that  it  would  be  to  the  general 
advantage  to  cherish  this  opinion.  For,  in  the  first 
place,  it  would  pacify  Judith,  and  then,  by  pacifying  her, 
would  give  himself  none  of  that  inconvenience,  that  run- 
ning to  and  fro  between  Polzeath  and  Wadebridge,  that 
consultation  of  law-books,  that  correspondence,  that  get- 
ting of  toes  and  fingers  into  hot  water,  likely  to  result 
from  the  impatience,  the  unflagging  eagerness  of  Judith 
to  liberate  her  brother. 

Accordingly  Uncle  Zachie  used  his  best  endeavors  to 
assure  Judith  that  Jamie  certainly  was  happy,  had  never 
been  so  happy  in  his  life  before,  and  that,  under  the 
treatment  of  so  kind  and  experienced  a  man  as  Mr.  Oba- 
diah Scantlebray,  there  was  reason  to  believe  that  in  a 
short  time  Jamie  would  issue  from  under  his  tuition  a 
light  so  brilliant  as  to  outshine  the  beacon  on  Trevose 
Head. 

Judith   was  unconvinced.     Love  is  jealous  and  thno- 


176  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

rous.  She  feared  lest  all  should  not  be  as  was  repre- 
sented. There  was  an  indefinable  something"  in  Mrs. 
Scantlebray  that  roused  her  suspicion.  She  could  not 
endure  that  others  should  step  into  the  place  of  respon- 
sibility toward  Jamie  she  had  occupied  so  long1,  and 
which  she  had  so  solemnly  assured  her  father  she  would 
never  abandon.  Supposing  that  Scantlebray  and  his 
wife  were  amiable  and  considerate  persons,  might  they 
not  so  influence  the  fickle  Jamie  as  to  displace  her  from 
his  affections  and  insinuate  themselves  in  her  room  ? 

But  it  was  not  this  mainly  that  troubled  her.  She  was 
tormented  with  the  thought  of  the  lonely,  nervous  child 
in  the  strange  house,  among  strange  people,  in  desola- 
tion of  heart  and  deadly  fear. 

Whenever  he  had  become  excited  during  the  day  he 
was  sleepless  at  night,  and  had  to  be  soothed  and  coaxed 
into  slumber.  On  such  occasions  she  had  been  wont, 
with  the  infinite,  inexhaustible  patience  of  true  love,  to 
sit  by  his  bed,  pacifying  his  alarms,  allaying  his  agi- 
tation, singing  to  him,  stroking  his  hair,  holding  his 
hand,  till  his  eyes  closed.  And  how  often,  just  as  he 
seemed  about  to  drop  asleep,  had  he  become  again 
suddenly  awake,  through  some  terror,  or  some  imagined 
discomfort  ?  then  all  the  soothing  process  had  to  be 
gone  through  again,  and  it  had  always  been  gone 
through  without  a  murmur  or  an  impatient  word. 

Now  Jamie  was  alone— or  perhaps  worse  than  alone— 
in  a  dormitory  of  idiots,  whose  strange  ways  filled  him 
with  terror,  and  his  dull  mind  would  be  working  to  dis- 
cover how  he  came  to  be  there,  how  it  was  that  his  Ju 
was  not  with  him.  Who  would  lull  his  fears,  who  sing 
to  him  old  familiar  strains  ?  "Would  any  other  hand  rest 
on  the  hot  brow  and  hold  it  down  on  the  pillow  1 

Judith  looked  up  to  heaven,  to  the  stars  already  glim- 
mering there.  She  was  not  hearkening  to  the  talk  of 
Uncle  Zachie  :  she  was  thinking  her  own  thoughts.  She 
was  indeed  walking  back  to  Polzeath ;  but  her  mind  was 
nailed  to  that  dull  drab  house  in  the  suburbs  of  AVade- 
bridge  with  the  brass  plate  on  the  door,  inscribed,  "  Mr. 
Scantlebray,  Surgeon."  As  her  eyes  were  raised  to  the 
stars,  she  thought  of  her  father.  He  was  above,  looking 
down  on  her,  and  it  seemed  to  her  that  in  the  flicker  of 
the  stars  she  saw  the  trouble  in  her  father's  face  at  the 
knowledge  that  his  children  were  parted,  and  his  poor 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  17V 

little  half -bright  boy  was  fallen  among-  those  who  had 
no  love  for  him,  might  have  no  patience  with  his  way. 
warclness,  would  not  make  allowance  for  his  infirmities. 

She  sobbed,  and  would  not  be  comforted  by  Mr.  Men. 
aida's  assurances.  Tired,  foot-weary,  but  more  tired  and 
weary  in  heart  and  mind,  she  reached  the  cottage.  She 
could  not  sleep  ;  she  was  restless.  She  sought  Jamie'r. 
room,  and  seated  herself  on  the  chair  by  his  little  bed, 
and  sobbed  far  on  into  the  night.  Her  head  ached,  as 
did  her  burning  and  blistered  feet ;  and  as  she  sat  she 
dozed  off,  then  awoke  with  a  start,  so  distinctly  did  she 
seem  to  hear  Jamie's  voice — his  familiar  tone  when  in 
distress — crying,  "  Ju  !  Come  to  me,  Ju !  "  So  vividly 
did  the  voice  sound  to  her  that  she  could  not  for  a  mo- 
ment or  two  shake  off  the  conviction  that  she  had  in 
reality  heard  him.  She  thought  that  he  must  have  called 
her.  He  must  be  unhappy.  What  were  those  people 
doing  to  him  ?  "Were  they  tormenting  the  poor  little 
frightened  creature  ?  Were  they  putting  him  into  a  dark 
room  by  himself,  and  was  he  nearly  mad  with  terror  I 
Were  they  beating  him,  because  he  cried  out  in  the  night 
and  disturbed  the  house  ? 

She  imagined  him  sitting  up  on  a  hard  bed,  shivering 
with  fear,  looking  round  him  in  the  dark,  and  screaming 
for  her — and  she  could  not  help  him. 

"  Oh,  Jamie ! "  she  cried,  and  threw  herself  on  her 
knees  and  put  her  hands  over  her  eyes  to  shut  out  the 
horrible  sight,  over  her  ears  to  close  them  to  the  pierc- 
ing cry.  "  They  will  drive  him  mad  !  Oh,  papa  !  my 
papa !  what  will  you  say  to  me  1  Oh,  my  Jamie  !  what 
can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

She  was  half  mad  herself,  mad  with  fancies,  conjured 
up  by  the  fever  of  distress  into  which  she  had  worked 
herself.  What  could  she  do  ?  She  could  not  breathe  in 
that  room.  She  could  not  breathe  in  the  house.  She 
could  not  remain  so  far  from  Jamie — and  he  crying  for 
her.  His  voice  rang  still  in  her  ears.  It  sounded  in  her 
heart,  it  drew  her  irresistibly  away.  If  she  could  but  be 
outside  that  drab  establishment  in  the  still  night,  to 
listen,  and  hear  if  all  were  quiet  within,  or  whether 
Jamie  were  calling,  shrieking  for  her.  He  would  cry  him- 
self into  fits.  He  would  become  really  deranged,  unless 
he  were  pacified.  Oh !  those  people !— she  imagined 
they  were  up,  not  knowing  what  to  do  with  the  boy,  un- 


178  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

able  to  soothe  him,  and  were  now  wishing"  that  she  were 
there,  wishing-  they  had  not  sent  her  away. 

Judith  was  in  that  condition  which  is  one  of  half  craze 
through  brooding  on  her  fears,  through  intense  sympathy 
with  the  unhappy  boy  so  ruthlessly  spirited  away, 
through  fever  of  the  blood,  caused  by  long-protracted 
nervous  strain,  through  over-weariness  of  mind  and  body. 
Jamie's  distress,  his  need  for  her  became  an  idea  that 
laid  hold  of  her,  that  could  not  be  dispelled,  that 
tortured  her  into  recklessness.  She  could  not  lie  on  her 
bed,  she  could  not  rest  her  head  for  one  moment.  She 
ran  to  the  window,  panting,  and  smoked  the  glass  with 
her  burning-  breath,  so  that  she  could  not  see  through  it. 

The  night  was  still,  the  sky  clear,  and  there  were  stars 
in  it.  Who  would  be  abroad  at  that  time  1  What  danger 
would  ensue  to  her  if  she  went  out  and  ran  back  to 
Wadebridge  ?  If  any  foot  were  to  be  heard  on  the  road, 
she  could  hide.  She  had  gone  out  at  night  in  storm  to 
save  Cruel  Cpppinger — should  she  not  go  out  in  still 
starlight  to  aid  her  own  twin-brother,  if  he  needed  her  1 
Providence  had  shielded  her  before — it  would  shield  her 
now. 

The  house  was  quiet.  Mr.  Menaida  had  long  ago 
gone  to  bed,  and  was  asleep.  His  snores  were  usually 
audible  at  night  through  the  cottage.  Jump  was  asleep, 
sound  in  sleep  as  any  hard-worked  sewing-wench.  Judith 
had  not  undressed,  had  not  taken  off  her  shoes ;  she  had 
wandered,  consumed  by  restlessness,  between  her  own 
room  and  that  of  her  brother. 

It  was  impossible  for  her  to  remain  there.  She  felt 
that  she  would  die  of  imaginings  of  evil  unless  she  were 
near  Jamie,  unless  there  were  naught  but  a  wall  between 
him  and  her. 

Judith  descended  the  stairs  and  once  again  went  forth 
alone  into  the  night,  not  now  to  set  her  face  seaward,  but 
landward;  before  she  had  gone  with  a  defined  aim  in 
view,  to  warn  Coppinger  of  his  danger,  now  she  was 
moved  by  a  vague  suspicion  of  evil. 

The  night  was  calm,  but  there  was  summer  lightning 
on  the  horizon,  attended  by  no  thunder,  a  constant  flicker, 
sometimes  a  flare,  as  though  some  bonfire  were  kindled 
beyond  the  margin  of  the  world,  that  was  being  stirred 
and  added  to.  The  air  was  close. 

Judith  had  no  one  to  look  to  in  the  world  to  help  her 


7JV  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  179 

and  Jamie — not  her  aunt,  her  sole  relative,  it  was  she  who 
had  sent  her  brother  to  this  place  of  restraint ;  not  Mr. 
Meiiaida,  he  had  not  the  moral  courage  and  energy  of 
purpose  to  succor  her  in  her  effort  to  release  Jamie ;  not 
Captain  Coppinger — him  she  dare  not  ask,  lest  he  should 
expect  too  much  in  return.  The  hand  of  misfortune  was 
heavy  on  the  girl ;  if  anything  was  to  be  done  to  relieve 
the  pressure,  she  must  dp  it  herself. 

As  she  was  going  hastily  along  the  lane  she  suddenly 
halted.  She  heard  some  one  a  little  way  before  her. 
There  was  no  gate  near  by  which  she  could  escape.  The 
lane  was  narrow,  and  the  hedges  low,  so  as  not  to  afford 
sufficient  shadow  to  conceal  her.  By  the  reel  summer 
flashes  she  saw  a  man  reeling  toward  her  round  the 
corner.  His  hat  was  on  one  side  of  his  head,  and  he 
lurched  first  to  one  side  of  the  lane,  then  to  the  other. 

"  There  went  three  trav'llers  over  the  moor — 

Ei-tiddle-riddle-rol,  huph  !  said  he. 
Three  trav'llers  over  the  moor  so  green, 
The  one  sang  high,  the  third  sang  low, 
Ri-tiddle-riddle-rol,  huph !  said  he, 
And  the  second  he  trolled  between." 

Then  he  stood  still. 

"  Huph  !  huph !  "  he  shouted.  "  Some  one  else  go  on, 
I'm  done  for—'  Bi-tiddle-de.'  " 

He  saw  Judith  by  the  starlight  and  by  the  flicker  of 
the  lightning,  and  put  his  head  on  one  side  and  capered 
toward  her  with  arms  extended,  chirping — "  '  Bi-tiddle- 
riddle-rol,  huph  !  said  he.'  " 

Judith  started  on  one  side,  and  the  drunken  man  pur- 
sued her,  but  in  so  doing,  stumbled,  and  fell  sprawling 
on  the  ground.  He  scrambled  to  his  feet  again,  and 
began  to  swear  at  her  and  sent  after  her  a  volley  of  foul 
and  profane  words.  Had  he  contented  himself  with  this 
it  would  have  been  bad  enough,  but  he  also  picked  up  a 
stone  and  threw  it.  Judith  felt  a  blow  on  her  head,  and 
the  lightning  flashes  seemed  to  be  on  all  sides  of  her, 
and  then  great  black  clouds  to  be  rising  like  smoke  out 
of  the  earth  about  her.  She  staggered  into  the  hedge, 
and  sank  on  her  knees. 

But  fear  lest  the  tipsy  ruffian  should  pursue  her  nerved 
her  to  make  an  effort  to  escape.  She  quickly  rose  and 
ran  along  the  lane,  turned  the  corner,  and  ran  on  till  her 


180  IF  THB  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

feet  would  no  longer  bear  her,  and  her  breath  failed. 
Then,  looking-  back,  and  seeing  that  she  was  not  followed, 
she  seated  herself,  breathless,  and  feeling  sick,  in  the 
hedge,  where  a  glow-worm  was  shining1,*  with  a  calm, 
steady  light,  very  different  from  the  flicker  of  the  stars 
above. 

As  she  there  sat,  she  was  conscious  of  something  warm 
on  her  neck,  and  putting  her  hand  up,  felt  that  it  was 
moist.  She  held  her  lingers  to  the  faint  glow  of  the 
worm  in  the  grass  ;  there  was  a  dark  stain  on  her  hand, 
and  she  was  sure  that  it  was  blood. 

She  felt  her  head  swim,  and  knew  that  in  another  mo- 
ment she  would  lose  consciousness,  unless  she  made  an 
effort  to  resist.  Hastily  she  bound  a  white  handker- 
chief about  her  head  where  wounded  by  the  stone,  to 
stay  the  flow,  and  walked  resolutely  forward. 

There  was  now  a  shadow  stealing  up  the  sky  to  the 
south,  and  obscuring  the  stars,  a  shadow  behind  which 
danced  and  wavered  the  electrical  light,  but  Judith  heard 
no  thunder,  she  had  not  the  leisure  to  listen  for  it ;  all 
her  anxiety  was  to  reach  Wadebridge.  But  the  air,  the 
oppressively  sultry  air,  was  charged  with  sound,  the 
mutter  and  growl  of  the  Atlantic.  The  ocean,  never  at 
rest,  ever  gives  forth  a  voice,  but  the  volume  of  its  tone 
varies.  Now  it  was  loud  and  threatening,  loud  and 
threatening  as  it  had  been  on  that  afternoon  when  Judith 
sat  with  her  father  in  the  rectory  garden,  tossing  guel- 
der-roses. Then,  the  air  had  been  still,  but  burdened 
with  the  menace  of  the  sea.  So  it  was  now  at  midnight ; 
the  ocean  felt  the  influence  of  the  distant  storm  that  was 
playing  far  away  to  the  south. 

Judith  could  not  run  now.  Her  feet  were  too  sore, 
her  strength  had  given  way.  Kesolute  though  her  will 
might  be,  it  could  not  inspire  with  masculine  strength 
the  fragile  little  body,  recently  recovered  from  sickness. 
But  it  carried  her  into  the  suburbs  of  Wadebridge,  and 
in  the  starlight  she  reached  the  house  of  Mr.  Obadiah 
Scantlebray,  and  stood  before  it,  looking  up  at  it  despair- 
ingly. It  was  not  drab  in  color  now,  it  was  lampblack 
against  a  sky  that  flashed  in  the  russet-light.  The  ker- 
chief she  hacLtied  about  her  head  had  become  loose.  Still 
looking  at  the  ugly,  gloomy  house,  she  put  up  her  arms 
and  rebound  it,  knotting  the  ends  more  tigktly,  using 
care  not  to  cover  her  ears,  as  she  was  intent  to  hear  the 


IF  THE  SOAR   OF  THE  SEA.  181 

least  sound  that  issued  from  the  asylum.  But  for  some 
time  she  could  hear  nothing1  save  the  rush  of  her  blood 
in  her  ears,  foaming-,  hissing-,  like  the  tide  entering-  a  bay 
over  reefs.  With  this  was  mingled  the  mutter  of  the  At- 
lantic, beyond  the  hills — and  now — yes,  certainly  now — 
the  rumble  of  remote  thunder. 

Judith  had  stood  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street 
looking  up  at  Scantlebray's  establishment ;  she  saw  no 
light  anywhere.  Now  she  drew  near  and  crept  along 
the  walls.  There  was  a  long  wing,  with  its  back  to  the 
street,  without  a  window  in  the  wall,  and  she  thought  it 
probable  that  the  inmates  of  the  asylum  were  accommo- 
dated therein,  a  dormitory  up -stairs,  play  or  school-rooms 
below.  There  Jamie  must  be.  The  only  windows  to 
this  wing  opened  into  the  garden;  and  consequently 
Judith  stole  along  the  garden  wall,  turned  the  angle, 
down  a  little  lane,  and  stood  listening.  The  wall  was 
high,  and  the  summit  encrusted  with  broken  glass.  She 
could  see  the  glass  prongs  by  the  flicker  of  the  light- 
ning. She  could  not  possibly  see  over  the  wall ;  the 
lane  was  too  narrow  for  her  to  go  back  far,  and  the  wall 
on  the  further  side  too  high  to  climb.  Not  a  sound 
from  within  reached  her  ears. 

In  the  still  night  she  stood  holding  her  breath. 

Then  a  scream  startled  her. 

It  was  the  cry  of  a  gull  flying  inland. 

If  a  gull's  cry  could  be  heard,  then  surely  that  of  her 
brother,  were  he  awake  and  unhappy,  and  wanting  her. 

She  went  further  down  the  wall,  and  came  on  a  small 
garden  gate  in  it,  fastened,  locked  from  within.  It  had 
a  stone  step.  On  that  she  sank,  and  laid  her  head  in  her 
hands. 


CHAPTEE  XXV. 

FOUND. 

Strange  mystery  of  human  sympathy !  inexplicable, 
yet  very  real.  Irrational,  yet  very  potent.  The  young- 
mother  has  accepted  an  invitation  to  a  garden-party. 
She  knows  that  she  never  looked  better  than  at  present, 
with  a  shade  of  delicacy  about  her.  She  has  got  a  new 
bonnet  that  is  particularly  becoming,  and  which  she  de- 
sires to  wear  in  public.  She  has  been  secluded  from  so- 
ciety for  several  months,  and  she  longs  to  meet  her 
friends  again.  She  knows  that  she  is  interesting,  and 
believes  herself  to  be  more  interesting  than  she  really  is. 
So  she  goes.  She  is  talking,  laughing,  a  little  flushed 
with  pleasure,  when  suddenly  she  becomes  grave,  the 
hand  that  holds  the  plate  of  raspberries  and  cream 
trembles.  All  her  pleasure  is  gone.  She  knows  that 
baby  is  crying.  Her  eye  wanders  in  quest  of  her  hus- 
band, she  runs  to  him,  touches  his  arm,  says — 

"  Do  order  the  carriage ;  baby  is  crying." 

It  is  all  fiddle-de-dee.  Baby  has  the  best  of  nurses, 
the  snuggest,  daintiest  little  cot ;  has  a  fresh-opened  tin 
of  condensed  Swiss  milk.  Reason  tells  her  that ;  but  no ! 
and  nurse  cannot  do  anything  to  pacify  the  child,  baby 
is  crying,  nurse  is  in  despair. 

In  like  manner  now  did  Judith  argue  with  herself, 
without  being  able  to  convince  her  heart.  Her  reason 
spoke  and  said  to  her — 

No  sound  of  cries  comes  from  the  asylum.  There  is 
no  light  in  any  window.  Every  inmate  is  asleep,  Jamie 
among  them.  He  does  not  need  you.  He  is  travelling 
in  dreamland.  The  Scantlebrays  have  been  kind  to 
him.  The  lady  is  a  good,  motherly  body ;  the  gentle- 
man's whole  soul  is  devoted  to  finding  amusement  and 
entertainment  for  the  afflicted  creatures  under  his  care. 
He  has  played  tricks  before  Jamie,  made  shadow-pict- 
ures on  the  wall,  told  funny  stories,  made  jacks-in-the- 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  183 

box  with  his  hands,  and  Jamie  has  laughed  till  he  was 
tired,  and  his  heavy  eyes  closed  with  a  laugh  not  fully 
laughed  out  011  his  lips.  The  Scaiitlebrays  are  paid  £70 
for  taking  care  of  Jamie,  and  £70  in  Judith's  estimation 
wTas  a  very  princely  sum.  The  £70  per  annum  Mr.  Scau- 
tlebray  would  corruscate  into  his  richest  fun,  and  Mrs. 
Scantlebray's  heart  overflowed  with  warmest  maternal 
affection. 

But  it  was  in  vain  that  Judith  thus  reasoned,  her  heart 
would  not  be  convinced.  An  indescribable  unrest  was 
in  her,  and  would  not  be  laid.  She  knew  by  instinct 
that  Jamie  wanted  her,  was  crying  for  her,  was  stretch- 
ing out  his  hands  in  the  dark  for  her. 

As  she  sat  on  the  step  not  only  did  reason  speak,  but 
judgment  also.  She  could  do  nothing  there.  She  had 
acted  a  foolish  part  in  coming  all  that  way  in  the  dark, 
and  without  a  chance  of  effecting  any  deliverance  to 
Jamie  now  she  had  reached  her  destination.  She  had 
committed  an  egregious  error  in  going  such  a  distance 
from  home,  from  anyone  who  might  serve  as  protector  to 
her  in  the  event  of  danger,  and  there  were  other  clangers 
she  might  encounter  than  having  stones  thrown  at  her 
by  drunken  men.  If  the  watch  were  to  find  her  there, 
what  explanation  of  her  presence  could  she  give  ? 
Would  they  take  her  away  and  lock  her  up  for  the  rest 
of  the  night  ?  They  could  not  leave  her  there.  Large, 
warm  drops,  like  tears  from  angels'  eyes,  fell  out  of 
heaven  upon  her  folded  hands,  and  on  her  bowed  neck. 

She  began  to  feel  chilled  after  having  been  heated  by 
her  walk,  so  she  rose,  and  found  that  she  had  become 
stiff.  She  must  move  about,  however  sore  and  weary 
her  feet  might  be. 

She  had  explored  the  lane  as  far  as  was  needful.  She 
could  not  see  from  it  into  the  house,  the  garden,  and 
playground.  Was  it  possible  that  there  was  a  lane  on 
the  further  side  of  the  house  which  would  give  her  the 
desired  opportunity  ? 

Judith  resolved  to  return  by  the  way  she  had  come, 
down  the  lane  into  the  main  street,  then  to  walk  along 
the  front  of  the  house,  and  explore  the  other  side.  As 
she  was  descending  the  lane  she  noticed,  about  twenty 
paces  from  the  door,  on  the  further  side,  a  dense  mass  of 
Portugal  laurel  that  hung  over  the  opposite  wall,  cast- 
ing a  shadow  of  inky  blackness  into  the  lane.  This  she 


184  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

considered  might  serve  her  as  shelter  when  the  threat- 
ening1 storm  broke  and  the  rain  poured  down.  She 
walked  through  this  shadow,  and  would  have  entered 
the  street,  but  that  she  perceived  certain  dark  objects 
passing  noiselessly  along  it.  By  the  Hashes  of  light- 
ning she  could  distinguish  men  with  laden  asses,  and 
one  she  saw  turn  to  enter  the  lane  where  she  was.  She 
drew  back  hastily  into  the  blot  cast  by  the  bush  that 
swung  its  luxuriance  over  the  wall,  and  drew  as  closely 
back  to  the  wall  as  was  possible.  Thus  she  could  not  be 
seen,  for  the  reflection  of  the  lightning  would  not  fall  on 
her;  every  glare  made  the  shadow  seem  the  deeper. 
Though  concealed  herself,  and  wholly  invisible,  she  was 
able  to  distinguish  a  man  with  an  ass  passing  by,  and 
then  halting  at  the  door  in  the  wall  that  surrounded  Mr. 
Obadiah's  tenement.  There  the  man  knocked,  and  ut- 
tered a  peculiar  whistle.  As  there  ensued  no  immediate 
answer  he  knocked  and  whistled  again,  whereupon  the 
door  was  opened,  and  a  word  or  two  was  passed. 

"  How  many  do  you  want,  sir  ?  " 

"Four." 

"  Any  to  help  to  carry  the  half -ankers  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Well,  no  odds.  I'll  carry  one  and  you  the  t'other. 
We'll  make  two  journeys,  that's  all.  I  can't  leave 
Neddy  for  long,  but  I'll  go  with  you  to  your  house - 
door." 

Probably  the  person  addressed  nodded  a  reply  in  the 
darkness ;  he  made  no  audible  answer. 

"  Which  is  it,  Mr.  Obadiah,  rum  or  brandy  ?  " 

"Brandy." 

"  Eight  you  are,  then.  These  are  brandy.  You  won't 
take  three  brandies  and  one  rum  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  All  right,  sir  ;  lead  the  way.     It's  deuced  dark." 

Judith  knew  what  this  signified.  Some  of  the  house- 
holders of  Wadebridge  were  taking  in  their  supplies  of 
spirits  from  the  smugglers.  Owing  to  the  inconven- 
ience of  it  being  unlawful  to  deal  with  these  men  for 
such  goods,  they  had  to  receive  their  purchases  at  night, 
and  with  much  secrecy.  There  were  watchmen  at  Wade- 
bridge,  but  on  such  nights  they  judiciously  patrolled 
another  quarter  of  the  town  than  that  which  received  its 
supplies.  The  watchmen  were  municipal  officials,  and 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  185 

were  not  connected  with  the  excise,  had  no  particular 
regard  for  the  inland  revenue,  anyhow,  owed  no  duties 
to  the  officers  of  the  coast-guard.  Their  superior  was 
the  mayor,  and  the  mayor  was  fond  of  buying-  his  spirits 
at  the  cheapest  market. 

Both  men  disappeared.  The  door  was  left  open  be- 
hind them.  The  opportunity  Judith  had  desired  had 
come.  Dare  she  seize  it  ?  For  a  moment  she  ques- 
tioned her  heart,  then  she  resolutely  stepped  out  of  the 
shadow  of  the  Portugal  laurel,  brushed  past  the  patient 
ass,  entered  the  grounds  of  Mr.  Scantlebray's  establish- 
ment through  the  open  garden-door,  and  drew  behind  a 
syringa  bush  to  consider  what  further  step  she  should 
take.  In  another  moment  both  men  were  back. 

"  You  are  sure  you  don't  mind  one  rum  1  " 

"  No." 

"  Eight  you  are,  then  ;  I'll  have  it  for  you  direct.  The 
other  kegs  are  at  t'other  end  of  the  lane.  You  come 
with  me,  and  we'll  have  'em  down  in  a  jiffy." 

Judith  heard  both  men  pass  out  of  the  door.  She 
looked  toward  the  house.  There  was  a  light  low  down 
in  a  door  opening  into  the  garden  or  yard  where  she  was. 

Not  a  moment  was  to  be  lost.  As  soon  as  the  last 
kegs  were  brought  in  the  house-door  would  be  locked, 
and  though  she  had  entered  the  garden  she  would  be 
unable  to  penetrate  to  the  interior  of  the  asylum.  With- 
out hesitation,  strong  in  her  earnest  purpose  to  help 
Jamie  to  the  utmost  of  her  power,  and  grasping  at  every 
chance  that  offered,  she  hastenecf,  cautiously  indeed,  but 
swiftly,  to  the  door  whence  the  light  proceeded.  The 
light  was  but  a  feeble  one,  and  cast  but  a  fluttering  ray 
upon  the  gravel.  Judith  was  careful  to  walk  where  it 
could  not  fall  on  her  dress. 

The  whole  garden  front  of  the  house  was  now  before 
her.  She  was  in  a  sort  of  gravelled  yard,  with  some 
bushes  against  the  walls.  The  main  block  of  the  house 
lay  to  her  right,  and  the  view  of  it  was  intercepted  by  a 
wall.  Clearly  the  garden  space  was  divided,  one  portion 
for  the  house,  and  another,  that  into  which  she  had  en- 
tered, for  the  wing.  That  long  wing  rose  before  her 
with  its  windows  all  dark  above,  and  the  lower  or  ground 
floor  also  dark.  Only  from  the  door  issued  the  light, 
and  she  saw  that  a  guttering  tallow  candle  was  set  there 
on  the  floor. 


186  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

Hastily  she  drew  back.  She  heard  feet  on  the  gravel 
The  men  were  returning-,  Mr.  Obacliah  Scantlebray  and 
the  smuggler,  each  laden  with  a  small  cask  of  spirits. 

"  Right  you  are,"  said  the  man,  as  he  set  his  keg  down 
in  the  passage,  "  that's  yours,  and  I  could  drink  your 
health,  sir." 

"  You  wouldn't — prefer  ?—  Mr.  Scantlebray  made 
contortions  with  his  hands  between  the  candle  and  the 
wall,  and  threw  a  shadow  on  the  surface  of  plaster. 

"  No,  thanks  sir,  I'd  prefer  a  shilling." 

Mr.  Scantlebray  fumbled  in  his  pockets,  grunted 
"  Humph  !  purse  up-stairs."  Felt  again,  "  No,"  groped 
inside  the  breast  of  his  waistcoat,  "  another  time — not 
forget." 

The  man  muttered  something  not  complimentary,  and 
turned  to  go  through  the  yard. 

"Must  lock  door,"  said  Mr.  Obadiah,  and  went  after 
him.  Now  was  Judith's  last  chance.  She  took  it  at 
once  ;  the  moment  the  backs  of  the  two  men  were  turned 
she  darted  into  the  passage  and  stood  back  against  the 
door  out  of  the  flare  of  the  candle. 

The  passage  was  a  sort  of  hall  with  slated  floor,  the 
walls  plastered  and  whitewashed  at  one  time,  but  the 
wash  and  plaster  had  been  picked  off  to  about  five  feet 
from  the  floor  wherever  not  strongly  adhesive,  giving  a 
diseased  and  sore  look  to  the  wall.  The  slates  of  the 
floor  were  dirty  and  broken. 

Judith  looked  along  the  hall  for  a  place  to  which  she 
could  retreat  on  the  return  of  the  proprietor  of  the  es- 
tablishment. She  had  entered  that  portion  of  the  build- 
ing tenanted  by  the  unhappy  patients.  The  meanness 
of  the  passage,  the  picked  walls,  the  situation  on  one 
side  of  the  comfortable  residence  showed  her  this.  A 
door  there  was  on  the  right,  ajar,  that  led  into  the  pri- 
vate dwelling-house,  but  into  that  Judith  did  not  care 
to  enter.  One  further  down  on  the  left  probably  gave 
access  to  some  apartment  devoted  to  the  "pupils,"  as 
Mrs.  Scantlebray  called  the  patients. 

There  was,  however,  another  door  that  was  open,  and 
from  it  descended  a  flight  of  brick  steps  to  what  Judith 
conjectured  to  be  the  cellars.  At  the  bottom  a  second 
candle,  in  a  tin  candlestick,  was  guttering  and  flickering 
in  the  draught  that  blew  in  at  the  yard  door,  and  de- 
scended to  this  underground  story.  It  was  obvious  to 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  187 

the  girl  that  Mr.  Scantlebray  was  about  to  carry  or  roll 
his  kegs  just  acquired  down  the  brick  steps  to  his  cellar. 
For  that  purpose  he  had  set  a  candle  there.  It  would 
not  therefore  do  for  her,  to  attempt  to  avoid  him,  to  de- 
scend to  this  lower  region.  She  must  pass  the  door 
that  gave  access  to  the  cellars,  a  door  usually  locked,  as 
she  judged,  for  a  large  iron  key  stood  in  the  lock,  and 
enter  the  room,  the  door  of  which  opened  further  down 
the  passage. 

She  was  drawing  her  skirts  together,  so  as  to  slip  past 
the  candle  on  the  passage  floor  'for  this  purpose,  when 
her  heart  stood  still  as  though  she  had  received  a  blow 
on  it.  She  heard — proceeding  from  somewhere  beneath 
clown  those  steps — a  moan,  then  a  feeble  cry  of  "  Ju ! 
Where  are  you  ?  Ju  !  Ju !  Ju  !  " 

She  all  but  did  cry  out  herself.  A  gasp  of  pain  and 
horror  did  escape  her,  and  then,  without  a  thought  of 
how  she  could  conceal  herself,  how  avoid  Scantlebray, 
she  ran  down  the  steps  to  the  cellar. 

On  reaching  the  bottom  she  found  that  there  were 
four  doors,  two  of  which  had  square  holes  cut  in  them, 
but  with  iron  bars  before  these  openings.  The  door  of 
one  of  the  others,  one  on  the  left,  was  open,  and  she  could 
see  casks  and  bottles.  It  was  a  wine  and  spirit  cellar, 
and  the  smell  of  wine  issued  from  it. 

She  stood  panting,  frightened,  fearing  what  she  might 
discover,  doubting  whether  she  had  heard  her  brother's 
voice  or  whether  she  was  a  prey  to  fancy.  Then  again 
she  heard  a  cry  and  a  moan.  It  issued  from  the  nearest 
cell  on  her  right  hand. 

"  Jamie  !  my  Jamie  !  "  she  cried. 

"Ju!  Ju!" 

The  door  was  hasped,  with  a  crook  let  into  a  staple  so 
that  it  might,  if  necessary,  be  padlocked.  But  now  it 
was  simply  shut  and  a  wooden  peg  was  thrust  through 
the  eye  of  the  crook. 

She  caught  up  the  candle,  and  with  trembling  hand 
endeavored  to  unfasten  the  door,  but  so  agitated  was 
she,  so  blinded  with  horror,  that  she  could  not  do  so  till 
she  had  put  down  the  candle  again.  Then  she  forced 
the  peg  from  its  place  and  raised  the  crook.  She  stooped 
and  took  up  the  candle  once  more,  and  then,  with  a 
short  breath  and  a  contraction  of  the  breast,  threw  open 
the  door,  stepped  in,  and  held  up  the  light. 


188  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

The  candle  flame  irradiated  what  was  but  a  cellar  com- 
partment vaulted  with  brick,  once  whitewashed,  now 
dirty  with  cobwebs  and  accumulated  dust  and  damp 
stains.  It  had  a  stone  shelf  on  one  sidev,  on  which  lay  a 
broken  plate  and  some  scraps  of  food. 

Against  the  further  wall  was  a  low  truckle  bed,  with  a 
mattress  on  it  and  some  rags  of  blanket.  Huddled  on 
this  lay  Jamie,  his  eyes  dilated  with  terror,  and  yet  red 
with  weeping.  His  clothes  had  been  removed,  except 
his  shirt.  His  long  red-gold  hair  had  lost  all  its  gloss 
and  beauty,  it  was  wet  with  sweat  and  knotted.  The 
boy's  face  was  ghastly  in  the  flickering  light. 

Judith  dropped  the  candle  on  the  floor,  and  rushed 
with  outstretched  arms,  and  a  cry — piercing,  but  beaten 
back  on  her  by  the  walls  and  vault  of  the  cell — and 
caught  the  frightened  boy  to  her  heart. 

"  Jamie  !     O  my  Jamie !  my  Jamie !  " 

She  swayed  herself,  crying,  in  the  bed,  holding  him 
to  her,  with  no  thought,  her  whole  being  absorbed  in  a 
spasm  of  intensest,  most  harrowing  pain.  The  tallow 
candle  was  on  the  slate  floor,  fallen,  melting,  spluttering, 
flaming. 

And  in  the  door,  holding  the  brandy  keg  upon  his 
shoulders,  stood,  with  open  eyes  and  mouth,  Mr.  Oba- 
diah  Scantlebray. 


CHAPTEE  XXVI. 

AN  UNWILLING  PRISONER. 

Mr.  Obadiah  stood  open-mouthed  staring"  at  the  twins 
clasped  in  each  other's  arms,  unable  at  first  to  under- 
stand what  he  saw.  Then  a  suspicion  entered  his  dull 
brain,  he  uttered  a  growl,  put  down  the  keg-,  his  heavy 
brows  contracted,  he  shut  his  mouth,  drawing"  in  his 
lips  so  that  they  disappeared,  and  he  clenched  his 
hands. 

"  Wait — I'll  beat  you  !."  he  said. 

The  upset  candle  was  on  the  floor,  now  half  molten, 
with  a  pond  of  tallow  burning  with  a  lambent  blue 
flicker  trembling  on  extinction,  then  shooting1  up  in  a 
yellow  flame. 

In  that  uncertain,  changeful,  upward  lig'ht  the  face  of 
the  man  looked  threatening',  remorseless,  so  that  Judith, 
in  a  paroxysm  of  fear  for  her  brother  and  herself  dropped, 
on  her  knee,  and  caught  at  the  tin  candlestick  as  the 
only  weapon  of  defence  accessible.  It  was  hot  and 
burnt  her  fingers,  but  she  did  not  let  g-o ;  and  as  she 
stood  up  the  dissolved  candle  fell  from  it  among  some 
straw  that  littered  the  pavement.  This  at  once  kindled 
and  blazed  up  into  golden  flame. 

For  a  moment  the  cell  was  full  of  light.  Mr.  Obadiah 
at  once  saw  the  danger.  His  casks  of  brandy  were  hard 
by — the  fume  of  alcohol  was  in  the  air — if  the  fire  spread 
and  caught  his  stores  a  volume  of  flame  would  sweep 
up  the  cellar  stair  and  set  his  house  on  fire.  He  hastily 
sprang  in,  and  danced  about  the  cell  stamping  furious- 
ly at  the  ignited  wisps.  Judith,  who  saw  him  rush  for- 
ward, thought  he  was  about  to  strike  her  and  Jamie, 
and  raised  the  tin  candlestick  in  self-defence  ;  but  when 
she  saw  him  eng-aged  in  trampling  out  the  fire,  tearing" 
at  the  bed  to  drag-  away  the  blankets  writh  which  to 
smother  the  embers,  she  drew  Jamie  aside  from  his 
reach,  sidled,  with  him  clinging-  to  her,  along  the  wall, 


190  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

and  by  a  sudden  spring  reached  the  passage,  slammed 
the  door,  fastened  the  hasp,  and  had  the  gaoler  secured 
in  his  own  gaol. 

For  a  moment  Mr.  Scantlebray  was  unaware  that  he 
was  a  prisoner,  so  busily  engaged  was  he  in  trampling 
out  the  fire,  but  the  moment  he  did  realize  the  fact  he 
slung  himself  with  all  his  force  against  the  door. 

Judith  looked  round  her.  There  was  now  no  light  in 
the  cellar  but  the  feeble  glimmer  that  descended  the 
stair  from  the  candle  above.  The  flame  of  that  was  now 
burning  steadily,  for  the  door  opening  into  the  yard  was 
shut,  and  the  draught  excluded. 

In  dragging  Jamie  along  with  her,  Judith  had  drawn 
forth  a  scanty  blanket  that  was  about  his  shoulders. 
She  wrapped  it  round  the  boy. 

"  Let  me  out !  "  roared  Scantlebray.  "  Don't  under- 
stand. Fun— rollicking  fun." 

Judith  paid  no  attention  to  his  bellow.  She  was  con- 
cerned only  to  escape  with  Jamie.  She  was  well  aware 
that  her  only  chance  was  by  retaining  Mr.  Obadiah 
where  he  was. 

"  Let  me  out !  "  again  shouted  the  prisoner ;  and  he 
threw  himself  furiously  against  the  door.  But  though 
it  jarred  on  its  hinges  and  made  the  hasp  leap,  he  could 
not  break  it  down.  Nevertheless,  so  big  and  strong  was 
the  man  that  it  was  by  no  means  improbable  that  his 
repeated  efforts  might  start  a  staple  or  snap  a  hinge 
band,  and  he  and  the  door  might  come  together  crashing 
down  into  the  passage  between  the  cells. 

Judith  drew  Jamie  up  the  steps,  and  on  reaching  the 
top  shut  the  cellar  door.  Below,  Mr.  Scantlebray  roared, 
swore,  shouted,  and  beat  against  the  door ;  but  now  his 
voice,  and  the  sound  of  his  blows  were  muffled,  and  would 
almost  certainly  be  inaudible  in  the  dwelling-house. 
No  wonder  that  Judith  had  not  heard  the  cries  of  her 
brother.  It  had  never  occurred  to  her  that  the  hapless 
victim  of  the  keeper  of  the  asylum  might  be  chastised, 
imprisoned,  variously  maltreated  in  regions  underground, 
whence  no  sounds  of  distress  might  reach  the  street,  and 
apprise  the  passers-by  that  all  was  not  laughter  within. 
Standing  in  the  passage  or  hall  above,  Judith  said : 

"  Oh,  Jamie  !  where  are  your  clothes  ?  " 

The  boy  looked  into  her  face  with  a  vacant  and  dis- 
tressed expression.  He  could  not  answer,  he  did  not 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  191 

even  understand  her  question,  so  stupified  was  he  by  his 
terrors,  and  the  treatment  he  had  undergone. 

Judith  took  the  candle  from  the  floor  and  searched 
the  hall.  Nothing-  was  there  save  Mr.  Scantlebray's  coat, 
which  he  had  removed  and  cast  across  one  of  the  kegs 
when  he  prepared  to  convey  them  down  to  his  cellar. 
Should  she  take  that  ?  She  shook  her  head  at  the 
thought.  She  would  not  have  it  said  that  she  had  taken 
anything  out  of  the  house,  except  only — as  that  was  an 
extreme  necessity,  the  blanket  wrapped  about  Jamie. 
She  looked  into  the  room  that  opened  beyond  the  cellar 
door.  It  was  a  great  bare  apartment,  containing  only  a 
table  and  some  forms. 

"  Jamie !  "  she  said,  "  we  must  get  away  from  this 
place  as  we  are.  There  is  no  help  for  it.  Do  you  not 
know  where  your  clothes  were  put  1 " 

He  shook  his  head.  He  clung  to  her  with  both  arms, 
as  though  afraid,  if  he  held  by  but  one  that  she  would 
slip  away  and  vanish,  as  one  drowning,  clinging  to  the 
only  support  that  sustained  him  from  sinking. 

"  Come,  Jamie !  It  cannot  be  otherwise  !  "  She  set 
down  the  candle,  opened  the  door  into  the  yard,  and 
issued  forth  into  the  night  along  with  the  boy.  The 
clouds  had  broken,  and  poured  down  their  deluge  of 
warm  thunder  rain.  In  the  dark  Judith  was  unable  to 
find  her  direction  at  once,  she  reached  the  boundary 
wall  where  was  no  door. 

Jamie  uttered  a  cry  of  pain. 

"  What  is  it,  dear  ?  " 

"  The  stones  cut  my  feet." 

She  felt  along  the  wall  with  one  hand  till  she  touched 
the  jamb,  then  pressed  against  the  door  itself.  It  was 
shut.  She  groped  for  the  lock.  No  key  was  in  it.  She 
could  as  little  escape  from  that  enclosure  as  she  could 
enter  into  it  from  without.  The  door  was  very  solid, 
and  the  lock  big  and  secure.  What  was  to  be  done? 
Judith  considered  for  a  moment,  standing  in  the  pour- 
ing rain  through  which  the  lightning  flashed  obscurely, 
illumining  nothing.  It  seemed  to  her  that  there  was  but 
one  course  open  to  her,  to  return  and  obtain  the  key 
from  Mr.  Obadiah  Scantlebray.  But  it  would  be  no 
easy  matter  to  induce  him  to  surrender  it. 

"  Jamie  !  will  you  remain  at  the  door  ?  Here  under 
the  wall  is  some  shelter.  I  must  go  back." 


192  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

But  the  boy  was  frightened  at  the  prospect  of  being 
deserted. 

"Then — Jamie,  will  you  come  back  with  me  to  the 
house  ? " 

No,  he  would  not  do  that. 

"  I  must  go  for  the  key,  dearest,"  she  said,  coaxingly. 
"  I  cannot  open  the  door,  so  that  we  can  escape,  unless  I 
have  the  key.  Will  you  do  something  for  Ju  I  Sit 
here,  011  the  steps,  where  you  are  somewhat  screened 
from  the  rain,  and  sing  to  me  something,  one  of  our  old 
songs— A  jolly  hawk  and  his  wings  were  gray?  sing 
that,  that  I  may  hear  your  voice  and  find  my  way  back 
to  you.  Oh — and  here,  Jamie,  your  feet  are  just  the  size 
of  mine,  and  so  you  shall  pull  on  my  shoes.  Then  you 
will  be  able  to  run  alongside  of  me  and  not  hurt  your 
soles." 

With  a  little  persuasion  she  induced  him  to  do  as  she 
asked.  She  took  off  her  own  shoes  and  gave  them  to 
him,  then  went  across  the  yard  to  where  was  the  house, 
she  discovered  the  door  by  a  little  streak  of  light  below 
it  and  the  well  tram  pled  and  worn  threshold  stone.  She 
opened  the  door,  took  up  the  candle  and  again  descended 
the  steps  to  the  cellar  floor.  On  reaching  the  bottom, 
she  held  up  the  light  and  saw  that  the  door  was  still 
sound ;  at  the  square  barred  opening  was  the  red  face  of 
Mr.  Scantlebray. 

"  Let  me  out,"  he  roared. 

"  Give  me  the  key  of  the  garden  door." 

"  Will  you  let  me  out  if  I  do?  " 

"  No ;  but  this  I  promise,  as  soon  as  I  have  escaped 
from  your  premises  I  will  knock  and  ring  at  your  front 
door  till  I  have  roused  the  house,  and  then  you  will  be 
found  and  released.  By  that  time  we  shall  have  got  well 
away." 

"I  will  not  give  you  the  key." 

"  Then  here  you  remain,"  said  Judith,  and  began  to 
reascend  the  steps.  It  had  occurred  to  her,  suddenly, 
that  very  possibly  the  key  she  desired  was  in  the  pocket 
of  the  coat  Mr.  Scantlebray  had  cast  off  before  descend- 
ing to  the  cellar.  She  would  hold  no  further  communi- 
cation with  him  till  she  had  ascertained  this.  He  yelled 
after  her  "Let  me  out,  and  you  shall  have  the  key." 
But  she  paid  no  attention  to  his  promise.  On  reaching 
the  top  of  the  stairs,  she  again  shut  the  door,  and  took 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  193 

up  his  coat.  She  searched  the  pockets.  No  key  was 
within. 

She  must  go  to  him  once  more. 

He  began  to  shout  as  he  saw  the  nicker  of  the  candle 
approach.  "Here  is  the  key,  take  it,  and  do  as  you 
said."  His  hand,  a  great  coarse  hand,  was  thrust  through 
the  opening  in  the  door,  and  in  it  was  the  key  she  re- 
quired. 

"  Very  well,"  said  she,  "  I  will  do  as  I  undertook." 

She  put  her  hand,  the  right  hand,  up  to  receive  the 
key.  In  her  left  was  the  candlestick.  Suddenly  he  lot 
go  the  key  that  clinked  down  on  the  floor  outside,  and 
made  a  clutch  at  her  hand  and  caught  her  by  the  wrist. 
She  grasped  the  bar  in  the  little  window,  or  he  would 
have  drawn  her  hand  in,  dragged  her  by  the  arm  up 
against  the  door,  and  broken  it.  He  now  held  her  wrist 
and  with  his  strong  hand  strove  to  wrench  her  fingers 
from  their  clutch. 

"  Unhasp  the  door !  "  he  howled  at  her. 

She  did  not  answer  other  than  with  a  cry  of  pain,  as 
he  worked  with  his  hand  at  her  wrist,  and  verily  it 
seemed  as  though  the  fragile  bones  must  snap  under  his 
drag. 

"  Unhasp  the  door !  "  he  roared  again. 

With  his  great  fingers  and  thick  nails  he  began  to 
thrust  at  and  ploughed  her  knuckles  ;  he  had  her  by  the 
wrist  with  one  hand,  and  he  was  striving  to  loosen  her 
hold  of  the  bar  with  the  other. 

"Unhasp  the  door!"  he  yelled  a  third  time,  "or  I'll 
break  every  bone  in  your  fingers !  "  and  he  brought  his 
fist  down  on  the  side  of  the  door  to  show  how  he  would 
pound  them  by  a  blow.  If  he  did  not  do  this  at  once  it 
was  because  he  dreaded  by  too  heavy  a  blow  to  strike 
the  bar  and  wound  himself  while  crushing  her  hand. 

She  could  not  hold  the  iron  stanchion  for  more  than 
another  instant — and  then  he  would  drag  her  arm  in,  as 
a  lion  in  its  cage  when  it  had  laid  hold  of  the  incautious 
visitor,  tears  him  to  itself  through  the  bars. 

Then  she  brought  the  candle-flame  up  against  his  hand 
that  grasped  her  wrist,  and  it  played  round  it.  He  ut- 
tered a  scream  of  pain,  and  let  go  for  a  moment.  But 
that  moment  sufficed.  She  was  free.  The  key  was  on 
the  floor.  She  stooped  to  pick  it  up ;  but  her  fingers 
were  as  though  paralyzed,  she  was  forced  to  take  it  with 


194  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

the  left  hand  and  leave  the  candle  on  the  floor.  Then, 
holding-  the  key  she  ran  up  the  steps,  ran  out  into  the 
yard,  and  heard  her  brother  wailing-,  "  Ju !  I  want  you ! 
"Where  are  you,  Ju  1 " 

Guided  by  his  cries  she  reached  the  door.  The  key 
she  put  into  the  lock,  and  with  a  little  effort  turned  it. 
The  door  opened,  she  and  Jamie  were  free. 

The  door  shut  behind  them.  They  were  in  the  dark 
lane,  under  a  pouring-  rain.  But  Judith  thought  nothing- 
of  the  darkness,  nothing-  of  the  rain.  She  threw  her  arms 
round  her  brother,  put  her  wet  cheek  ag-ainst  his,  and 
burst  into  tears. 

"  My  Jamie !     O  my  Jamie !  " 

But  the  deliverance  of  her  brother  was  not  complete  ; 
she  must  bring-  him  back  to  Polzeath.  She  could  allow 
herself  but  a  moment  for  the  relief  of  her  heart,  and  then 
she  -caught  him  to  her  side,  and  pushed  on  with  him 
along  the  lane  till  they  entered  the  street.  Here  she 
stood  for  a  moment  in  uncertainty.  Was  she  bound  to 
fulfil  her  engagement  to  Mr.  Obadiah  ?  She  had  ob- 
tained the  key,  but  he  had  behaved  to  her  with  treach- 
ery. He  had  not  intended  the  key  to  be  other  than  a 
bait  to  draw  her  within  his  clutch,  that  he  might  torture 
her  into  opening  the  door  of  his  cell.  Nevertheless,  she 
had  the  key,  and  Judith  was  too  honorable  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  him. 

With  Jamie  still  clinging-  to  her  she  went  up  the  pair 
of  steps  to  the  front  door,  rang-  the  night -bell,  and 
knocked  long  and  loud.  Then,  all  at  once  her  strength 
that  had  lasted  gave  way,  and  she  sank  on  the  door- 
steps, without  indeed  losing  consciousness,  but  losing 
in  an  instant  all  power  of  doing  or  thinking,  of  striving- 
any  more  for  Jamie  or  for  herself. 


CHAPTEK  XXVII. 

A  RESCUE. 

A  window  overhead  was  thrown  open,  and  a  voice  that 
Judith  recognized  as  that  of  Mrs.  Obadiah  Scantlebray, 
called  :  "  Who  is  there  ? — what  is  wanted  ?  " 

The  girl  could  not  answer.  The  power  to  speak  was 
gone  from  her.  It  was  as  though  all  her  faculties,  ex- 
erted to  the  full,  had  at  once  given  way.  She  could  not 
rise  from  the  steps  on  which  she  had  sunk :  the  will  to 
make  the  effort  was  gone.  Her  head  was  fallen  against 
the  jamb  of  the  door  and  the  knot  of  the  kerchief  was 
between  her  head  and  the  wood,  and  hurt  her,  but  even 
the  will  to  lift  her  hands  and  shift  the  bandage  one  inch 
was  not  present. 

The  mill-wheel  revolves  briskly,  throwing  the  foaming 
water  out  of  its  buckets,  with  a  lively  rattle,  then  its 
movement  slackens,  it  strains,  the  buckets  fill  and  even 
spill,  but  the  wheel  seems  to  be  reduced  to  statuariness. 
That  stress  point  is  but  for  a  moment,  then  the  weight  of 
the  water  overbalances  the  strain,  and  whirr !  round 
plunges  the  wheel,  and  the  bright  foaming  water  is 
whisked  about,  and  the  buckets  disgorge  their  contents. 

It  is  the  same  with  the  wheel  of  human  life.  It  has 
its  periods  of  rapid  and  glad  revolutions,  and  also  its 
moments  of  supreme  tension,  when  it  is  all  but  over- 
strung— when  its  movement  is  hardly  perceptible.  The 
strain  put  on  Judith's  faculties  had  been  excessive,  and 
now  those  faculties  failed  her,  failed  her  absolutely. 
The  prostration  might  not  last  long — it  might  last  for- 
ever. It  is  so  sometimes  when  there  has  been  over- 
exertion  ;  thought  stops,  will  ceases  to  act,  sensation 
dies  into  numbness,  the  heart  beats  slow,  slower,  then 
perhaps  stops  finally. 

It  was  not  quite  come  to  that  with  Judith.  She  knew 
that  she  had  rushed  into  danger  again,  the  very  danger 


196  IN  TUB  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

from  which  she  had  just  escaped,  she  knew  it,  but  she 
was  incapable  of  acting-  on  the  knowledge. 

"  Who  is  below  1  "  was  again  called  from  an  upper 
window. 

Judith,  with  open  eyes,  heard  that  the  rain  was  still 
falling-  heavily,  heard  the  shoot  of  water  from  the  roof 
plash  down  into  the  runnel  of  the  street,  felt  the  heavy 
drops  come  down  on  her  from  the  architrave  over  the 
door,  and  she  saw  something  in  the  roadway :  shadows 
stealing  along  the  same  as  she  had  seen  before,  but  pass- 
ing in  a  reversed  direction.  These  were  again  men  and 
beasts,  but  their  feet  and  hoofs  were  no  longer  inaudible, 
they  trod  in  the  puddles  and  splashed  and  squelched  the 
water  and  mud  about,  at  each  step.  The  smugglers  had 
delivered  the  supplies  agreed  on,  at  the  houses  of  those 
who  dealt  with  them,  and  were  now  returning,  the  asses 
no  longer  laden. 

And  Judith  heard  the  door  behind  her  unbarred  and 
unchained  and  unlocked.  Then  it  was  opened,  and  a  ray 
of  light  was  cast  into  the  street,  turning  falling  rain- 
drops into  drops  of  liquid  gold,  and  revealing,  ghostly, 
a  passing  ass  and  its  driver. 

"  Who  is  there  ?     Is  anyone  there  ?  " 

Then  the  blaze  of  light  was  turned  on  Judith,  and  her 
eyes  shut  with  a  spasm  of  pain. 

In  the  doorway  stood  Mrs.  Hcantlebray  half-garmented, 
that  is  to  say  with  a  gown  on,  the  folds  of  which  fell 
in  very  straight  lines  from  the  waist  to  her  feet,  and 
with  a  night-cap  on  her  head,  and  her  curls  in  papers. 
She  held  a  lamp  in  her  hand,  and  this  was  now  directed 
upon  the  girl,  lying,  or  half-sitting  in  the  door-way, 
her  bandaged  head  leaning  against  the  jamb,  one  hand 
in  her  lap,  the  fingers  open,  the  other  falling  at  her 
side,  hanging  down  the  steps,  the  fingers  in  the  running 
current  of  the  gutter,  in  which  also  was  one  shoeless 
foot. 

"  Why — goodness  !  mercy  on  us  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Scantlebray,  inconsiderately  thrusting  the  lamp  close 
into  the  girl's  face.  "  It  can  never  be — yet — surely  it 
is— 

"  Judith  !  "  exclaimed  a  deep  voice,  the  sound  of  which 
sent  a  sudden  nutter  through  the  girl's  nerves  and  pulses. 
"  Judith  !  "  and  from  out  the  darkness  and  falling  rain 
plunged  a  man  in  full  mantle  wrapped  about  him  and 


IN  THE  HOAR   OF  THE  SEA.  197 

overhanging1  broad-brimmed  hat.  Without  a  word  of  ex- 
cuse he  snatched  the  light  from  Mrs.  Scaiitlebray  and 
raised  it  above  Judith's  head. 

"  Merciful  powers  !  "  he  cried,  "  what  is  the  meaning  of 
this  ?  What  has  happened  ?  There  is  blood  here — 
blood !  Judith — speak.  For  heaven's  sake,  speak !  " 

The  light  fell  on  his  face,  his  glittering  eyes — and  she 
slightly  turned  her  head  and  looked  at  him.  She  opened 
her  mouth  to  speak,  but  could  form  no  words,  but  the 
appeal  in  those  dim  eyes  went  to  his  heart,  he  thrust  the 
lamp  roughly  back  into  Mrs.  Scantlebray's  hand,  knelt 
on  the  steps,  passed  an  arm  under  the  girl,  the  other 
about  her  waist,  lifted  and  carried  her  without  a  word 
inside  the  house.  There  was  a  leather-covered  ottoman 
in  the  hall,  and  he  laid  her  on  that,  hastily  throwing  off 
his  cloak,  folding  it,  and  placing  it  as  a  pillow  beneath 
her  head. 

Then,  on  one  knee  at  her  side,  he  drew  a  flask  from  his 
breast  pocket,  and  poured  some  drops  of  spirit  down  her 
throat.  The  strength  of  the  brandy  made  her  catch  her 
breath,  and  brought  a  flash  of  red  to  her  cheek.  It  had 
served  its  purpose,  helped  the  wheel  of  life  to  turn  be- 
yond the  stress  point  at  which  it  threatened  to  stay 
wholly.  She  moved  her  head,  and  looked  eagerly  about 
her  for  Jamie.  He  was  not  there.  She  drew  a  long 
breath,  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  Are  you  better  1 "  he  asked,  stooping  over  her,  and 
she  could  read  the  intensity  of  his  anxiety  in  his  face. 

She  tried  to  smile  a  reply,  but  the  muscles  of  her  lips 
were  too  stiff  for  more  than  a  flutter. 

"  Run ! "  ordered  Captain  Coppinger,  standing  up, 
"  you  woman,  are  you  a  fool  ?  Where  is  your  husband  ? 
He  is  a  doctor,  fetch  him.  The  girl  might  die." 

"  He — Captain — he  is  engaged,  I  believe,  taking  in  his 
stores." 

"  Fetch  him  !     Leave  the  lamp  here." 

Mrs.  Scaiitlebray  groped  about  for  a  candle,  and  hav- 
ing found  one,  proceeded  to  light  it. 

"  I'm  really  shocked  to  appear  before  you,  Captain,  in 
this  state  of  undress." 

"  Fetch  your  husband  !  "  said  Coppinger,  impatiently. 

Then  she  withdrew. 

The  draught  of  spirits  had  acted  on  Judith  and  revived 
her.  Her  breath  came  more  evenly,  her  heart  beat  regu- 


198  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

larly,  and  the  blood  began  to  circulate  again.  As  her 
bodily  powers  returned,  her  mind  began  to  work  once 
more,  and  again  anxiously  she  looked  about  her. 

"  What  is  it  you  want  ? "  asked  Captain  Cruel. 

"  Where  is  Jamie  1 " 

He  muttered  a  low  oath.  Always  Jamie.  She  could 
think  of  no  one  but  that  silly  boy. 

Then  suddenly  she  recalled  her  position — in  Scantle- 
bray's  house,  and  the  wife  was  on  the  way  to  the  cellars, 
would  find  him,  release  him-  -and  though  she  knew  that 
Coppinger  would  not  suffer  Obadiah  to  injure  her,  she 
feared,  in  her  present  weakness,  a  violent  scene.  She  sat 
up,  dropped  her  feet  on  the  floor,  and  stretched  both  her 
hands  to  the  smuggler. 

"  Oh,  take  me !  take  me  from  here." 

"  No,  Judith,"  he  answered.  "  You  must  have  the  doc- 
tor to  see  you — after  that — 

"  No !  no !  take  me  before  he  comes.   He  will  kill  me." 

Coppinger  laughed.  He  would  like  to  see  the  man 
who  would  dare  to  lay  a  finger  on  Judith  while  he  stood 
by. 

Now  they  heard  a  noise  from  the  wings  of  the  house 
at  the  side  that  communicated  with  the  dwelling  by  a 
door  that  Mrs.  Scantlebray  had  left  ajar.  There  were 
exclamations,  oaths,  a  loud,  angry  voice,  and  the  shrill 
tones  of  the  woman  mingled  with  the  bass  notes  of  her 
husband.  The  color  that  had  risen  to  the  girl's  cheeks 
left  them  ;  she  put  her  hands  on  Coppinger's  breast  and 
looking  him  entreatingly  in  the  eyes,  said : 

"  I  pray  you !  I  pray  you  !  " 

He  snatched  her  up  in  his  arms,  drew  her  close  to  him, 
went  to  the  door,  cast  it  open  with  his  foot,  and  bore  her 
out  into  the  rain.  There  stood  his  mare,  Black  Bess,  with 
a  lad  holding  her. 

"  Judith,  can  you  ride  ?  " 

He  lifted  her  into  the  saddle. 

"  Boy,"  said  he,  "  lead  on  gently ;  I  will  stay  her  lest 
she  fall." 

Then  they  moved  away,  and  saw  through  the  sheet  of 
falling  rain  the  lighted  door,  and  Scantlebray  in  it,  in  his 
shirt  sleeves  shaking  his  fists,  and  his  wife  behind  him, 
endeavoring  to  draw  him  back  by  the  buckle  and  strap 
of  his  waistcoat. 

"  Oh,  where  is  Jamie  ?  I  wonder  where  Jamie  is  ?  "  said 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF   THE  SEA.  199 

Judith,  looking*  round  her  in  the  dark,  but  could  see  no 
sign  of  her  brother. 

There  were  straggling-  houses  for  half  a  mile — a  little 
gap  of  garden  or  paddock,  then  a  cottage,  then  a  cluster 
of  trees,  and  an  alehouse,  then  hedges  and  no  more 
houses.  A  cooler  wind  was  blowing1,  dispelling-  the  close, 
warm  atmosphere,  and  the  rain  fell  less  heavily.  There 
was  a  faint  light  among-  the  clouds  like  a  watering-  of 
satin.  It  showed  that  the  storm  was  passing  away.  The 
lightning  flashes  were,  moreover,  at  long-er  intervals, 
fainter,  and  the  thunder  rumbled  distantly.  "With  the 
fresher  air,  some  strength  and  life  came  back  to  Judith. 
The  wheel  though  on  the  turn  was  not  yet  revolving 
rapidly. 

Copping-er  walked  by  the  horse,  he  had  his  arm  up, 
holding-  Judith,  for  he  feared  lest  in  her  weakness  she 
mig-ht  fall,  and  indeed,  by  her  weight  upon  his  hand,  he 
was  aware  that  her  power  to  sustain  herself  unassisted 
was  not  come.  He  looked  up  at  her ;  he  could  hardly 
fail  to  do  so,  standing,  striding  so  close  to  her,  her  wet 
garments  brushing  his  face ;  but  he  could  not  see  her,  or 
saw  her  indistinctly.  He  had  thrust  her  little  foot  into 
the  leather  of  his  stirrup,  as  the  strap  was  too  long  for 
her  to  use,  and  he  did  not  tarry  to  shorten  it. 

Coppinger  was  much  puzzled  to  learn  how  Judith  had 
come  at  such  an  hour  to  the  door  of  Mrs.  Obadiah  Scan- 
tlebray,  shoeless,  and  with  wounded  head,  but  he  asked 
no  questions.  He  was  aware  that  she  was  not  in  a  condi- 
tion to  answer  them. 

He  held  her  up  with  his  right  hand  in  the  saddle,  and 
with  his  left  he  held  her  foot  in  the  leather.  Were  she 
to  fall  she  might  drag  by  the  foot,  and  he  must  be  011 
his  guard  against  that.  Pacing  in  the  darkness,  holding 
her,  his  heart  beat,  and  his  thoughts  tossed  and  boiled 
within  him.  This  girl  so  feeble,  so  childish,  he  was  com- 
ing across  incessantly,  thrown  in  her  way  to  help  her, 
and  he  was  bound  to  her  by  ties  invisible,  impalpable, 
and  yet  of  such  strength  that  he  could  not  break  through 
them  and  free  himself. 

He  was  a  man  of  indomitable  will,  of  iron  strength, 
staying  up  this  girl,  who  had  flickered  out  of  uncon- 
sciousness and  might  slide  back  into  it  again  at  any  mo- 
ment, and  yet  he  felt,  he  knew  that  he  was  powerless 
before  her — that  if  she  said  to  him,  "  Lie  down  that  I 


200  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

may  trample  on  you,"  he  would  throw  himself  in  the  foul 
road  without  a  word  to  be  trodden  under  by  these  shoe- 
less feet.  There  was  but  one  command  she  could  lay  011 
him  that  he  would  not  perform,  and  that  was  "  Let  me  go 
by  myself  !  Never  come  near  me !  "  That  he  could  not 
obey.  The  rugged  moon  revolves  about  the  earth. 
Could  the  moon  fly  away  into  space  were  the  terrestrial 
orb  to  bid  it  cease  to  be  a  satellite  ?  And  if  it  did,  whither 
would  it  go  ?  Into  far  off  space,  into  outer  darkness  and 
deathly  cold,  to  split  and  shiver  into  fragments  in  the 
inconceivable  frost  in  the  abyss  of  blackness.  And  Ju- 
dith threw  a  sort  of  light  and  heat  over  this  fierce,  undis- 
ciplined man,  that  trembled  in  his  veins  and  bathed  his 
heart,  and  was  to  him  a  spring  of  beauty,  a  summer  of 
light.  Could  he  leave  her  ?  To  leave  her  would  be  to  be 
lost  to  everything  that  had  now  begun  to  transform  his 
existence.  The  thought  came  over  him  now,  as  he 
walked  along  in  silence — that  she  might  bid  him  let  go, 
and  he  felt  that  he  could  not  obey.  He  must  hold  her, 
he  must  hold  her  not  from  him  on  the  saddle,  not  as 
merely  staying  her  up,  but  to  himself,  to  his  heart,  as  his 
own,  his  own  forever. 

Suddenly  an  exclamation  from  Judith :  "  Jamie ! 
Jamie !  " 

Something  was  visible  in  the  darkness,  something 
whitish  in  the  hedge.  In  another  moment  it  came  bound- 
ing up. 

"  Ju !  oh,  Ju !     I  ran  away ! " 

"  You  did  Avell,"  she  said.  "  Now  I  am  happy.  You 
are  saved." 

Coppinger  looked  impatiently  round  and  saw  by  the 
feeble  light  that  the  boy  had  come  close  to  him,  and  that 
he  was  wrapped  up  in  a  blanket. 

"  He  has  nothing  on  him,"  said  Judith.  "  Oh,  poor 
Jamie  !  " 

She  had  revived  ;  she  was  almost  herself  again.  She 
held  herself  more  firmly  in  the  saddle  and  did  not  lean 
so  heavily  on  Coppinger's  hand. 

Coppinger  was  vexed  at  the  appearance  of  the  boy, 
Jamie ;  he  would  fain  have  paced  along  in  silence  by  the 
side  of  Judith.  If  she  could  not  speak  it  mattered  not 
so  long  as  he  held  her.  But  that  this  fool  should  spring 
out  of  the  darkness  and  join  company  with  him  and  her, 
and  at  once  awake  her  interest  and  loosen  her  tongue, 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  201 

irritated  him.  But  as  she  was  able  to  speak  lie  would 
address  her,  and  not  allow  her  to  talk  over  his  head  with 
Jamie. 

"  How  have  you  been  hurt  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Why  have 
you  tied  that  bandage  about  your  head  ?  " 

"I  have  been  cut  by  a  stone." 

'•'  How  came  that ! " 

"  A  drunken  man  threw  it  at  me." 

"  What  was  his  name  ?  " 

"I  do  not  know." 

"  That  is  well  for  him."  Then,  after  a  short  pause,  he 
asked  further,  "  And  your  unshod  feet  ? " 

"  Oh  !  I  gave  my  shoes  to  Jamie." 

Coppinger  turned  sharply  round  011  the  boy.  "  Take 
off  those  shoes  instantly  and  give  them  back  to  your 
sister." 

"  No — indeed,  no,"  said  Judith.  "  He  is  running  and 
will  cut  his  poor  feet — and  I,  through  your  kindness,  am 
riding." 

Coppinger  did  not  insist.  He  asked :  "  But  how  comes 
the  boy  to  be  without  clothes  ?  " 

"  Because  I  rescued  him,  as  he  was,  from  the  Asylum." 

"  You — !     Is  that  why  you  are  out  at  night  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  knew  he  had  been  taken  by  the  two  Mr. 
Scaiitlebray's  at  Wadebridge,  and  I  could  not  rest.  I  felt 
sure  he  was  miserable,  and  was  dying  for  me." 

"  So — in  the  night  you  went  to  him  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  But  how  did  you  get  him  his  freedom  ?  " 

"I  found  him  locked  in  the  black-hole,  in  the  cellar." 

"And  did  Scantlebray  look  on  passively  while  you 
released  him  ? " 

"  Oh,  no,  I  let  Jamie  out,  and  locked  him  in,  in  his 
place." 

"  You — Scantlebray  in  the  black-hole  !  " 

"  Yes." 

Then  Coppinger  laughed,  laughed  long  and  boister- 
ously. His  hand  that  held  Judith's  foot  and  the  stirrup 
leather  shook  with  his  laughter. 

"By  Heaven! — You  are  wonderful,  very  wonderful. 
Any  one  who  opposes  you  is  ill-treated,  knocked  down 
and  broken,  or  locked  into  a  black  hole  in  the  dead  of 
night." 

Judith,  in  spite  of  her  exhaustion,  was  obliged  to  smile. 


202  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

"  You  see,  I  must  do  what  I  can  for  Jamie." 

•"  Always  Jamie." 

"  Yes,  Captain  Coppinger,  always  Jamie.  He  is  help- 
less and  must  be  thought  for.  I  am  mother,  nurse,  sis- 
ter to  him." 

"His  providence,"  sneered  Copping-er. 

"  The  means  under  Providence  of  preserving1  him,"  said 
Judith. 

"  And  me — would  you  do  aught  for  me  ?  " 

"  Did  I  not  come  down  the  cliffs  for  you  u?  "  asked  the 
girl. 

"  Heaven  forgive  me  that  I  forgot  that  for  one  mo- 
ment," he  answered,  with  vehemence.  "  Happy — happy 
—happiest  of  any  in  this  vile  world  is  the  man  for  whom 
you  will  think,  and  scheme  and  care  and  dare — as  you  do 
for  Jamie." 

"  There  is  none  such,"  said  Judith. 

"  No — I  know  that,"  he  answered,  gloomily,  and  strode 
forward  with  his  head  down. 

Ten  minutes  had  elapsed  in  silence,  and  Polzeath  was 
approached.  Then  suddenly  Coppinger  let  go  his  hold 
of  Judith,  caught  the  rein  of  Black  Bess,  and  arrested 
her.  Standing  beside  Judith,  he  said,  in  a  peevish,  low 
tone: 

"I  touched  your  hand,  and  said  I  was  subject  to  a 
queen."  He  bent,  took  her  foot  and  kissed  it.  "  You 
repulsed  me  as  subject;  you  are  my  mistress  —  accept 
me  as  your  slave." 


CHAPTEE  XXVIH. 

AN  EXAMINATION. 

Some  days  had  elapsed.  Judith. had  not  suffered  from 
her  second  night  expedition  as  she  had  from  the  first, 
but  the  intellectual  abilities  of  Jamie  had  deteriorated. 
The  fright  he  had  undergone  had  shaken  his  nerves,  and 
had  made  him  more  restless,  timid,  and  helpless  than 
heretofore,  exacting  more  of  Judith's  attention  and  more 
trying  her  endurance.  But  she  trusted  these  ill  effects 
would  pass  away  in  time.  From  his  rambling  talk  she 
had  been  able  to  gather  some  particulars,  which  to  a  de- 
gree modified  her  opinion  relative  to  the  behavior  of  Mr. 
Obadiah  Scantlebray.  It  appeared  from  the  boy's  own 
account  that  he  had  been  very  troublesome.  After  he 
had  been,  taken  into  the  wing  of  the  establishment  that 
was  occupied  by  the  imbeciles,  his  alarm  and  bewilder- 
ment had  grown.  He  had  begun  to  cry  and  to  clamor 
for  his  release,  or  for  the  presence  of  his  sister.  As 
night  came  on,  paroxysms  of  impotent  rage  had  alter- 
nated with  fits  of  whining.  The  appearance  of  his  com- 
panions in  confinement,  some  of  them  complete  idiots, 
with  half -human  gestures  and  faces,  had  enhanced  his 
terrors.  He  would  eat  no  supper,  and  when  put  to  bed 
in  the  common  dormitory  had  thrown  off  his  clothes,  torn 
his  sheets,  and  refused  to  lie  down ;  had  sat  up  and 
screamed  at  the  top  of  his  voice.  Nothing  that  could  be 
done,  no  representations  would  pacify  him.  He  pre- 
vented his  fellow  inmates  of  the  asylum  from  sleeping, 
and  he  made  it  not  at  all  improbable  that  his  cries 
would  be  overheard  by  passers-by  in  the  street,  or  those 
occupying  neighboring  houses,  and  thus  give  rise  to 
unpleasant  surmises,  and  perhaps  inquiry.  Finally, 
Scantlebray  had  removed  the  boy  to  the  place  of  punish- 
ment, the  Black  Hole,  a  compartment  of  the  cellars, 
there  to  keep  him  till  his  lungs  were  exhausted,  or  his 
reason  gained  the  upper  hand,  and  Judith  supposed,  with 


204  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

some  justice,  that  Scanttabray  had  done  this  only,  or 
chiefly,  because  he  himself  would  be  up,  and  about  the 
cellars,  engaged  in  housing  his  supplies  of  brandy,  and 
that  he  had  no  intention  of  locking  the, unhappy  boy  up 
for  the  -entire  night,  in  solitude,  in  his  cellars.  He  had 
not  left  him  in  complete  darkness,  for  a  candle  had  been 
placed  on  the  ground  outside  the  Black  Hole  door. 

As  Judith  saw  the  matter  now,  it  seemed  to  her  that 
though  Scantlebray  had  acted  with  harshness  and  lack 
of  judgment  there  was  some  palliation  for  his  conduct. 
That  Jamie  could  be  most  exasperating,  she  knew  full 
well  by  experience.  When  he  went  into  one  of  his 
fits  of  temper  and  crying,  it  took  many  hours  and  much 
patience  to  pacify  him.  She  had  spent  long  time  and 
exhausted  her  efforts  to  bring  him  to  a  subd.ued  frame 
of  mind  on  the  most  irrational  and  trifling  occasions, 
when  he  had  been  angered.  Nothing  answered  with 
him  then  save  infinite  forbearance  and  exuberant  love. 
On  this  occasion  there  was  good  excuse  for  Jamie's  fit, 
he  had  been  frightened,  and  frightened  out  of  his  few 
wits.  As  Judith  said  to  herself— had  she  been  treated 
in  the  same  manner,  spirited  off,  without  preparation, 
to  a  strange  house,  confined  among  afflicted  beings,  de- 
prived of  every  familiar  companion — she  would  have 
been  filled  with  terror,  and  reasonably  so.  She  would 
not  have  exhibited  it,  however,  in  the  same  manner  as 
Jamie. 

Scantlebray  had  not  acted  with  gentleness,  but  he  had 
not,  on  the  other  hand,  exhibited  wanton  cruelty.  That 
he  was  a  man  of  coarse  nature,  likely  on  provocation  to 
break  through  the  superficial  veneer  of  amiability,  she 
concluded  from  her  own  experience,  and  she  did  not 
doubt  that  those  of  the  unfortunate  inmates  of  the 
asylum  who  overstrained  his  forbearance  met  with  very 
rough  handling.  But  that  he  took  a  malignant  pleasure 
in  harassing  and  torturing  them,  that  she  did  not  be- 
lieve. 

On  the  day  following  the  escape  from  the  asylum,  Ju- 
dith sent  Mr.  Menaida  to  Wadebridge  with  the  blanket 
that  had  been  carried  off  round  the  shoulders  of  her 
brother,  and  with  a  request  to  have  Jamie's  clothes  sur- 
rendered. Uncle  Zachie  returned  with  the  garments, 
they  were  not  refused  him,  and  Judith  and  her  brother 
settled  down  into  the  routine  of  employment  and  amuse- 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  205 

ment  as  before.  The  lad  assisted  Mr.  Menaida  with  his 
bird  skins,  talking-  a  little  more  childishly  than  before, 
and  sticking-  less  assiduously  to  his  task ;  and  Judith 
did  her  needlework  and  occasionally  played  on  the 
piano  the  pieces  of  music  at  which  Uncle  Zachie  had 
hammered  ineffectually  for  many  years,  and  she  played 
them  to  the  old  man's  satisfaction. 

At  last  the  girl  ventured  to  induce  Jamie  to  recommence 
his  lessons.  He  resisted  at  first,  and  when  she  did,  on  a 
rainy  day,  persuade  him  to  set  to  his  school  tasks,  she 
was  careful  not  to  hold  him  to  them  for  more  than  a  few 
minutes,  and  to  select  those  lessons  which  made  him 
least  impatient. 

There  was  a  "  Goldsmith's  Geography,"  illustrated  with 
copper-plates  of  Indians  attacking1  Captain  Cook,  the 
geysers,  Esquimaux  fishing-,  etc.,  that  always  amused  the 
boy.  Accordingly,  more  geography  was  done  during* 
these  first  days  of  resumption  of  work  than  history, 
arithmetic,  or  reading-.  Latin  had  not  yet  been  at- 
tempted, as  that  was  Jamie's  particular  aversion.  How- 
ever, the  Eton  Latin  grammar  was  produced,  and  placed 
on  the  table,  to  familiarize  his  mind  with  the  idea  that 
it  had  to  be  tackled  some  day. 

Judith  had  spread  the  table  with  lesson -books,  ink, 
slate,  and  writing--copies,  one  morning,  when  she  was 
surprised  at  the  entry  of  four  gentlemen,  two  of  whom 
she  recognized  immediately  as  the  Brothers  Scaiitlebray. 
The  other  two  she  did  not  know.  One  was  thin  faced, 
with  red  hair,  a  high  forehead  extending-  to  the  crown, 
with  the  hair  drawn  over  it,  and  well  pomatumed,  to 
keep  it  in  place,  and  conceal  the  baldness ;  the  other  a 
short  man,  in  knee-breeches  and  tan-boots,  with  a  red 
face,  and  with  breath  that  perfumed  the  whole  room 
with  spirits. 

Mr.  Scantlebray,  senior,  came  up  with  both  hands  ex- 
tended. "  This  is  splendid !  How  are  you  ?  Never 
more  charmed  in  my  life,  and  ready  to  impart  knowl- 
edge, as  the  sun  diffuses  light.  Obadiah,  old  man,  look 
at  your  pupil — better  already  for  having  passed  through 
your  hands.  I  can  see  it  at  a  glance ;  there's  a  bright- 
ness, a  Je  ne  sais  quoi  about  him  that  was  not  there  be- 
fore. Old  man,  I  congratulate  you.  You  have  a  gift — 
shake  hands." 

The  gentlemen  seated  themselves  without  invitation. 


206  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

Surprise  and  alarm  made  Judith  forget  her  usual  cour- 
tesy. She  feared  lest  the  sight  of  his  gaolers  might  excite 
Jamie.  But  it  was  not  so.  Whether^  in  his  confused 
mind,  he  did  not  associate  Mr.  Obadiah  with  his  troubles 
011  that  night  of  distress,  or  whether  his  attention  was 
distracted  by  the  sight  of  so  many,  was  doubtful,  but 
Jamie  did  not  seem  to  be  disconcerted ;  rather,  on  the 
contrary,  he  was  glad  of  some  excuse  for  escape  from 
lessons. 

"  We  are  come,"  said  the  red-headed  man,  "  at  Miss 
Trevisa's  desire — but  really,  Mr.  Scantlebray,  for  shame 
of  you.  Where  are  your  manners  ?  Introduce  me." 

"  Mr.  Vokins,"  said  Scantlebray,  "  and  the  accomplished 
and  charming  Miss  Judith  Trevisa,  orphing." 

"And  now,  dear  young  lady,"  said  the  red-headed 
man,  "now,  positively,  it  is  my  turn — my  friend,  Mr. 
Jukes.  Jukes,  man !  Miss  Judith  Trevisa." 

Then  Mr.  Yokins  coughed  into  his  thin  white  hand, 
and  said,  "  We  are  come,  naturally — and  I  am  sure  you 
wish  what  Miss  Trevisa  wishes — to  just  look  at  your 
brother,  and  give  our  opinion  on  his  health." 

"  Oh,  he  is  quite  well,"  said  Judith. 

"  Ah !  you  think  so,  naturally,  but  we  would  decide 
for  ourselves,  dearest  young  lady,  though — not  for  the 
world  would  we  willingly  differ  from  you.  But,  you 
know,  there  are  questions  on  which  varieties  of  opinions 
are  allowable,  and  yet  do  not  disturb  the  most  heartfelt 
friendship.  It  is  so,  is  it  not,  Jukes  ?  " 

The  rubicund  man  in  knee-breeches  nodded. 

"Shall  I  begin,  Jukes?  Why,  my  fine  little  man! 
What  an  array  of  books !  What  scholarship !  And  at 
your  age,  too — astounding !  What  age  did  you  say  you 
were  ?  "  This  to  Jamie  in  an  insinuating  tone.  Jamie 
stared,  looked  appealingly  at  Judith,  and  said  nothing. 

"  We  are  the  same  age,  we  are  twins,"  said  Judith. 

"  Oh !  it  is  not  the  right  thing  to  appear  anxious  to 
know  a  lady's  age.  We  will  put  it  another  way,  eh, 
Jukes  ? " 

The  red-faced  man  leaned  his  hands  on  his  stick,  his 
chin  on  his  hands,  and  winked,  as  in  that  position  he 
could  not  nod. 

"  Now,  my  fine  little  man  !  When  is  your  birthday  ? 
When  you  have  your  cake — raisin-cake,  eh  ?  " 

Jamie  looked  questioningly  at  his  sister. 


/JV   THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  207 

"  Ah !  Come,  not  the  day  of  the  month — but  the 
month,  eh  1 " 

Jamie  could  not  answer. 

"  Come  now,"  said  the  red-headed  levy  man,  stretching" 
his  leg's  before  him,  legs  vested  in  white  trousers, 
strapped  down  tight.  "  Come  now,  my  splendid  speci- 
men of  humanity  1  In  which  quarter  of  the  year  ?  Be- 
tween sickle  and  scythe,  eh  ?  "  He  waited,  and  receiving" 
no  answer,  pulled  out  a  pocket-book  and  made  a  note, 
after  having  first  wetted  the  end  of  his  pencil.  "  Don't 
know  when  he  was  born.  What  do  you  say  to  that, 
Jukes  ?  Will  you  take  your  turn  1 " 

The  man  with  an  inflamed  face  was  gradually  becom- 
ing purple,  as  he  leaned  forward  on  his  stick,  and  said, 
"  Humph  !  a  Latin  grammar.  Propria  quae  maribus.  I 
remember  it,  but  it  was  a  long  time  ago  I  learned  it. 
Now,  whipper-snapper !  How  do  you  get  on  ?  Propria 
quse  maribus — Go  on."  He  waited.  Jamie  looked  at 
him  in  astonishment.  "  Come !  Tribu — "  again  he 
waited.  "  Come !  Tribuntur  mascula  dicas.  Go  on." 
Again  a  pause.  Then  with  an  impatient  growl.  "  Ut 
sunt  divorum,  Mars,  Bacchus,  Apollo.  This  will  never 
do.  Go  on  with  the  Scaramouch,  Yokins.  I'll  make  my 
annotations." 

"  He's  too  hard  on  my  little  chap,  aint  he  ? "  asked 
the  thin  man  in  ducks.  "We  won't  be  done.  We  are 
not  old  enough— 

"He  is  but  eighteen,"  said  Judith. 

"  He  is  but  eighteen,"  repeated  the  red-headed  man. 
"  Of  course  he  has  not  got  so  far  as  that,  but  musa, 
rnusa?." 

Jamie  turned  sulky. 

"  Not  musa,  musne — and  eighteen  years !  Jukes,  this 
is  serious,  Jukes ;  eh,  Jukes  ? " 

"  Now  look  here,  you  fellows,"  said  Scantlebray,  senior. 
"  You  are  too  exacting.  It's  holiday  time,  ain't  it,  Or- 
phing  ?  We  won't  be  put  upon,  not  Ave.  We'll  sport, 
and  frolic,  and  be  joyful.  Look  here,  Scanty,  old  man, 
take  the  slate  and  draw  a  pictur'  to  my  describing. 
Now  then,  Jamie,  look  at  him  and  hearken  to  me.  He's 
the  funniest  old  man  that  ever  was,  and  he'll  surprise 
you.  Are  you  ready,  Scanty  ?  "  Mr.  Obadiah  drew  the 
slate  before  him,  and  signed  with  the  pencil  to  Jamie  to 
observe  him.  The  boy  was  quite  ready  to  see  him  draw. 


208  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

"  There  was  once  upon  a  time,"  began  Mr.  Scantlebray, 
senior,  "  a  man  that  lived  in  a  round  tower.  Look  at 
him,  draw  it,  there  you  are.  That  is  the  tower.  Go  on. 
And  in  the  tower  was  a  round  winder.  *  Do  you  see  the 
winder,  Orphing  ?  This  man  every  morning1  put  his 
hand  out  of  the  winder  to  ascertain  which  way  the  wind 
blew.  He  put  it  in  thus,  and  drew  it  out  thus.  No  ! 
don't  look  at  me,  look  at  the  slate  and  then  you'll  see  it 
all.  Now  this  man  had  a  large  pond,  preserved  full  of 
fish."  Scratch,  scratch  went  the  pencil  on  the  slate. 
"  Them's  the  fish,"  said  Scaiitlebray,  senior.  "  Now  be- 
low the  situation  of  that  pond,  in  two  huts,  lived  a  pair 
of  thieves.  You  see  them  pokey  things  my  brother  has 
drawn  ?  Them's  the  'uts.  When  night  set  in,  these 
wicked  thieves  came  walking  up  to  the  pond,  see  my 
brother  drawing  their  respective  courses  !  And  on  reach- 
ing the  pond,  they  opened  the  sluice,  and  whish  !  whish ! 
out  poured  the  water."  Scratch,  scratch,  squeak,  squeak, 
went  the  pencil  on  the  slate.  "There  now!  the  naughty 
robbers  went  after  fish,  and  got  a  goose !  Look !  a 
goo-oose." 

"  Where's  the  goose  ?  "  asked  Jamie. 

"  Where  ?  Before  your  eyes — under  your  nose.  That 
brilliant  brother  of  mine  has  drawn  one.  Hold  the  slate 
up,  Scanty." 

"  That's  not  a  goose,"  said  Jamie. 

"  Not  a  goose !     You  don't  know  what  geese  are." 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  retorted  the  boy,  resentfully,  "  I  know  the 
wild  goose  and  the  tame  one — which  do  you  call  that  ?  " 

"  Oh,  wild  goose,  of  course." 

"  It's  not  one.  A  goose  hasn't  a  tail  like  that,  nor  such 
legs,"  said  Jamie,  contemptuously. 

Mr.  Scantlebray,  senior,  looked  at  Messrs.  Yokins  and 
Jukes  and  shook  his  head.  "  A  bad  case.  Don't  know  a 
goose  when  he  sees  it — and  he  is  eighteen." 

Both  Yokins  and  Jukes  made  an  entry  in  their  pocket- 
books. 

"  Now  Jukes,"  said  Yokins,  "  will  you  take  a  turn,  or 
shall  I  ? " 

"Oh,  you,  Yokins,"  answered  Jukes,  "I  haven't  re- 
covered propria  quce  maribus,  yet." 

"  Yery  well,  my  interesting  young  friend.  Suppose 
now  we  change  the  subject  and  try  arithmetic." 

"  I  don't  want  any  arithmetic,"  said  Jamie,  sulkily. 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  209 

"  No — come — now  we  won't  call  it  by  that  name  ;  sup- 
pose some  one  were  to  give  you  a  shilling"." 

Jamie  looked  up  interested. 

"  And  suppose  he  were  to  say.  There — go  and  buy 
sweeties  with  this  shilling.  Tartlets  at  three  for  two 
pence,  and  barley -sugar  at  three  farthings  a  stick, 
and— 

"I  want  my  shilling  back,"  said  Jamie,  looking 
straight  into  the  face  of  Mr.  Scantlebray,  senior. 

"And  that  there  were  burnt  almonds  at  two  pence  an 
ounce." 

"  I  want  my  shilling,"  exclaimed  the  boy,  angrily. 

:'  Your  shilling,  puff!  puff!  "  said  the  red-headed  man. 
"This  is  ideal,  an  ideal  shilling,  and  ideal  jam-tarts, 
almond  rock,  burnt  almonds  or  what  you  like." 

"  Give  me  back  my  shilling.  I  won  it  fair,"  persisted 
Jamie. 

Then  Judith,  distressed,  interfered.  "  Jamie,  dear ! 
what  do  you  mean  ?  You  have  no  shilling  owing  to 
you." 

"  I  have  !  I  have !  "  screamed  the  boy.  "  I  won  it  fair 
of  that  man  there,  because  I  made  a  rabbit,  and  he  took 
it  from  me  again." 

"  Hallucinations,"  said  Jukes. 

"  Quite  so,"  said  Yokins. 

"  Give  me  my  shilling.  It  is  a  cheat!"  cried  Jamie, 
now  suddenly  roused  into  one  of  his  fits  of  passion. 

Judith  caught  him  by  the  arm,  and  endeavored  to  pacify 
him. 

"  Let  go,  Ju !  I  will  have  my  shilling.  That  man  took 
it  away.  He  is  a  cheat,  a  thief.  Give  me  my  shilling." 

"  I  am  afraid  he  is  excitable,"  said  Yokins. 

"  Like  all  irrational  beings,"  answered  Jukes.  "  I'll 
make  a  note.  Rising  out  of  hallucinations." 

"  I  will  have  my  shilling,"  persisted  Jamie.  "  Give  me 
my  shilling  or  I'll  throw  the  ink  at  you." 

He  caught  up  the  ink-pot,  and  before  Judith  had  time 
to  interfere  had  flung  it  across  the  table,  intending  to 
hit  Mr.  Scantlebray,  senior,  but  not  hurt  him,  and  the 
black  fluid  was  scattered  over  Mr.  Yokins's  white  trousers. 

"  Bless  my  life  !  "  exclaimed  this  gentleman,  springing 
to  his  feet,  pulling  out  his  handkerchief  to  wipe  away 
the  ink,  and  only  smearing  it  the  more  over  his  "  ducks" 
and  discoloring  as  well,  his  kerchief.  "  Bless  my  life — 


210  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

Jukes !  a  dangerous  lunatic.  Note  at  once.  Clearly 
comes  within  the  act.  Clearly." 

In  a  few  minutes  all  had  left,  and  Judith  was  endeavor- 
ing to  pacify  her  irritated  brother.  His  fingers  were 
blackened,  and  finally  she  persuaded  him  to  go  up -stairs 
and  wash  his  hands  clear  of  the  ink. 

Then  she  ran  into  the  adjoining  room  to  Mr.  Menaida. 
"Oh,  dear  Mr.  Menaida!"  she  said,  "what  does  this 
mean  ?  Why  have  they  been  here  ? " 

Uncle  Zacliie  looked  grave  and  discomposed. 

"  My  dear,"  said  he.  "  Those  were  doctors,  and  they 
have  been  here,  sent  by  your  aunt,  to  examine  into  the 
condition  of  Jamie's  intellect,  and  to  report  on  what  they 
have  observed.  There  was  a  little  going  beyond  the  law, 
perhaps,  at  first.  That  is  why  they  took  it  so  easily 
when  you  carried  Jamie  off.  They  knew  you  were  with 
an  old  lawyer ;  they  knew  that  you  or  I  could  sue  for  a 
writ  of  Habeas  Corpus." 

"But   do   you  really   think — that    Aunt  Dioiiysia  is 

foing  to  have  Jamie  sent  back  to  that  man  at  Wade- 
ridge  ?  " 

"  I  am  certain  of  it.  That  is  why  they  came  here  to- 
day." 

"  Can  I  not  prevent  it  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  think  so.     If  you  go  to  law— 

"  But  if  they  once  get  him,  they  will  make  an  idiot  or 
a  madman  of  him." 

"  Then  you  must  see  your  aunt  and  persuade  her  not  to 
send  him  there." 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

ON  A  PEACOCK'S  FEATHER. 

As  Mr.  Meiiaida  spoke,  Miss  Dionysia  Trevisa  entered, 
stiff,  hard,  and  when  her  eyes  fell  on  Judith,  they  con- 
tracted with  an  expression  of  antipathy.  In  the  eyes 
alone  was  this  observable,  for  her  face  was  immovable. 

"Auntie!"  exclaimed  Judith,  drawing-  her  into  the 
sitting-room,  and  pressing-  her  to  take  the  arm  chair. 
"  Oh,  Auntie !  I  have  so  long-ed  to  see  you — there  have 
been  some  dreadful  men  .here — doctors  I  think — and 
they  have  been  teasing-  Jamie,  till  they  had  worked  him 
into  one  of  his  temper  fits." 

"  I  sent  them  here,  and  for  good  reasons.  Jamie  is  to 
go  back  to  Wadebridge." 

"  No — indeed  no  !  auntie !  do  not  say  that.  You  would 
not  say  it  if  you  knew  all." 

"  I  know  quite  enough.  More  than  is  pleasing  to  me. 
I  have  heard  of  your  outrageous  and  unbecoming  con- 
duct. Hoity !  toity !  To  think  that  a  Trevisa — but  there 
you  are  one  only  in  name — should  go  out  at  night,  about 
the  streets  and  lanes,  like  a  common  stray.  Bless  me ! 
you  might  have  knocked  me  down  with  a  touch,  when  I 
was  told  of  it." 

"I  did  nothing  outrageous  and  unbecoming,  aunt. 
You  may  be  sure  of  that.  I  am  quite  aware  that  I  am  a 
Trevisa,  and  a  gentlewoman,  and  something  higher  than 
that,  aunt — a  Christian.  My  father  never  let  me  forget 
that." 

"  Your  conduct  was — well  I  will  give  it  no  expletive." 

"  Aunt,  I  did  what  was  right.  I  was  sure  that  Jamie 
was  unhappy  and  wanted  me.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  I 
knew  it,  but  I  was  certain  of  it,  and  I  had  no  peace  till  I 
went ;  and,  as  I  found  the  garden  door  open,  I  went  in, 
and  as  I  went  in  I  found  Jamie  locked  up  in  the  cellars, 
and  I  freed  him.  Had  you  found  him  there,  you  would 
have  done  the  same." 


212  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

"  I  have  heard  all  about  it.  I  want  110  repetition  of  a 
very  scandalous  story.  Against  my  will  I  am  burdened 
with  an  intolerable  obligation,  to  look  after  an  idiot 
nephew  and  a  niece  that  is  a  self-willed  and  perverse 
Miss." 

"  Jamie  is  no  idiot,"  answered  Judith,  firmly. 

"  Jamie  is  what  those  pronounce  him  to  be,  who  by 
their  age,  their  profession,  and  their  inquiries  are  calcu- 
lated to  judge  better  than  an  ignorant  girl,  not  out  of 
her  teens." 

"  Auntie  I  believe  you  have  been  misinformed.  Listen 
to  me,  and  I  will  tell  you  what  happened.  As  for  those 
men— 

"  Those  men  were  doctors.  Perhaps  they  were  misin- 
formed when  they  went  through  the  College  of  Bur- 
geons, were  misinformed  by  all  the  medical  books  they 
have  read,  were  misdirected  by  all  the  study  of  the  men- 
tal and  bodily  maladies  of  men  they  have  made,  in  their 
professional  course." 

"  I  wish,  dear  Aunt  Dionysia,  you  would  take  Jamie 
to  be  with  you  a  few  weeks,  talk  to  him,  play  with  him, 
go  walks  with  him,  and  you  will  never  say  that  he  is  an 
idiot.  He  needs  careful  management,  and  also  a  little 
application- 
Enough  of  that  theme,"  interrupted  Miss  Trevisa, 
"  I  have  not  come  here  to  be  drawn  into  an  argument,  or 
to  listen  to  your  ideas  of  the  condition  of  that  unhappy, 
troublesome,  that  provoking  boy.  I  wish  to  heaven  I 
had  not  the  responsibility  for  him,  that  has  been  thrust 
on  me,  but  as  I  have  to  exercise  it,  and  there  is  no  one  to 
relieve  me  of  it,  I  must  do  my  best,  though  it  is  a  great 
expense  to  me.  Seventy  pounds  is  not  seventy  shillings, 
nor  is  it  seventy  pence." 

"  Aunt,  he  is  not  to  go  back  to  the  asylum.  He  must 
not  go." 

"Hoity  toity  !  must  not  indeed.  You,  a  minx  of  eigh- 
teen to  dictate  to  me  !  Must  not,  indeed  !  You  seem  to 
think  that  you,  and  not  I,  are  Jamie's  guardian." 

''  Papa  entrusted  him  to  me  with  his  last  words." 

"  I  know  nothing  about  last  words.  In  his  will  I  am 
constituted  his  guardian  and  yours,  and  as  such  I  shall 
act  as  my  convenience — conscience  I  mean,  dictates." 

"  But,  Aunt !  Jamie  is  not  to  go  back  to  Wadebridge. 
Aunt !  I  entreat  you !  I  know  what  that  place  is.  I  have 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  213 

been  inside  it,  you  have  not.  And  just  think  of  Jamie 
on  the  very  first  night  being-  locked  up  there." 

"He  richly  deserved  it,  I  will  be  bound." 

"  Oh,  Aunt !     How  could  he  ?     How  could  he  ? " 

"  Of  that  Mr.  Obadiah  Scantlebray  was  the  best  judge. 
Why  he  had  to  be  punished  you  do  not  know." 

"  Indeed  I  do.  He  cried  because  the  place  was  strange, 
and  he  was  among'  strange  faces.  Aunt — if  you  were 
whipped  off  to  Timbuctoo,  and  suddenly  found  yourself 
among-  savag-es,  and  in  a  rush  apron,  as  the  squaw  of  a 
black  chief,  or  whatever  they  call 'their  wives  in  Timbuc- 
too land,  would  you  not  scream  ? " 

"Judith,"  said  Miss  Trevisa,  bridling-  up.  "You  forget 
yourself." 

"  No,  Aunt !  I  am  only  pleading  for  Jamie,  trying  to 
make  you  feel  for  him,  when  he  was  locked  up  in  an  asy- 
lum. How  would  you  like  it,  Aunt,  if  you  were  snatched 
away  to  Barthelmy  fair,  and  Suddenly  found  yourself 
among  tight-rope  dancers,  and  Jack  Puddings  ? " 

"  Judith,  I  insist  on  you  holding  your  tongue.  I  object 
to  being  associated  even  in  faiicy,  with  such  creatures." 

"  Well — but  Jamie  was  associated,  not  in  fancy,  but  in 
horrible  reality,  .with  idiots." 

"Jamie  goes  to  Scantlebray's  Asylum  to-day." 

"  Auntie ! " 

"  He  is  already  in  the  hands  of  the  brothers  Scaiitle- 
bray." 

"  Oh,  Auntie — no — no  ! " 

"  It  is  no  pleasure  to  me  to  have  to  find  the  money, 
you  may  well  believe.  Seventy  pounds  is  not,  as  I  said, 
seventy  pence,  it  is  not  seventy  farthings.  But  duty  is 
duty,  and  however  painful  and  unpleasant  and  costly,  it 
must  be  performed." 

Then  from  the  adjoining  room,  "the  shop,"  came  Mr. 
Menaida. 

"  I  beg  pardon  for  an  interruption  and  for  interfer- 
ence," said  he.  "  I  happen  to  have  overheard  what  has 
passed,  as  I  was  engaged  in  the  next  room,  and  I  believe 
that  I  can  make  a  proposal  which  will  perhaps  be  ac- 
ceptable to  you,  Miss  Trevisa,  and  grateful  to  Miss  Ju- 
dith." 

"  I  am  ready  to  listen  to  you,"  said  Aunt  Dionysia, 
haughtily. 

"It  is  this,"  said  Uncle  Zachie.     "I  understand  that 


214:  Itf  THE  ROAR   OF   THE  SEA. 

pecuniary  matters  concerning-  Jamie  are  a  little  irksome. 
Now  the  boy,  if  he  puts  his  mind  to  it,  can  be  useful  to 
me.  He  has  a  remarkable  aptitude  for  taxidermy.  I 
have  more  orders  011  my  hands  than  I  can  attend  to.  I 
am  a  gentleman,  not  a  tradesman,  and  I  object  to  be  op- 
pressed— flattened  out — with  the  orders  piled  on  top  of 
me.  But  if  the  boy  will  help,  he  can  earn  sufficient  to 
pay  for  his  living-  here  with  me." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Menaida,  dear  Mr.  Menaida !  thank  you  so 
much,"  exclaimed  Judith. 

"Perhaps  you  will  allow  me  to  speak,"  said  Miss  Tre- 
visa,  with  asperity.  "  I  am  guardian,  and  not  you,  what- 
ever you  may  think  from  certain  vague  expressions 
breathed  casually  from  my  poor  brother's  lips,  and  to 
which  you  have  attached  an  importance  he  never  gave  to 
them." 

"  Aunt,  I  assure  yon,  my  dear  papa — 

"  That  question  is  closed.  We  will  not  reopen  it.  I 
am  a  Trevisa.  I  can't  for  a  moment  imagine  where  you 
got  those  ideas.  Not  from  your  father's  family,  I  am 
sure.  Tight-rope  dancers  and  Timbuctoos,  indeed !  " 
Then  she  turned  to  Mr.  Menaida,  and  said,  in  her  hard, 
constrained  voice,  as  though  she  were  exercising-  great 
moral  control  to  prevent  herself  from  snapping-  at  him 
with  her  teeth.  "  Your  proposal  is  kind  and  well  inten- 
tioned,  but  I  cannot  accept  it." 

"  Oh,  Aunt !  why  not  ?  " 

"  That  you  shall  hear.  I  must  beg  you  not  to  inter- 
rupt me.  You  are  so  familiar  with  the  manners  of  Tim- 
buctoo  and  of  Barthelmy  Fair,  that  you  forget  those 
pertaining  to  England  and  polished  society."  Then, 
turning  to  Mr.  Menaida,  she  said:  "I  thank  you  for 
your  well-intentioned  proposal,  which,  however,  it  is  not 
possible  for  me  to  close  with.  I  must  consider  the  boy's 
ulterior  advantage,  not  the  immediate  relief  to  my 
sorely-taxed  purse.  I  have  thought  proper  to  place 
Jamie  with  a  person,  a  gentleman  of  experience,  and 
highly  qualified  to  deal  with  those  mentally  afflicted. 
However  much  I  may  value  you,  Mr.  Menaida,  you  must 
excuse  me  for  saying  that  firmness  is  not  a  quality  you 
have  cultivated  with  assiduity.  Judith,  my  niece,  has 
almost  ruined  the  boy  by  humoring  him.  You  cannot 
stiffen  a  jelly  by  setting  it  in  the  sun,  or  in  a  chair  be- 
fore the  fire,  and  that  is  what  my  niece  has  been  doing. 


IN  THE  HOAR   OF  THE  SEA.  215 

The  boy  must  be  isinglassed  into  solidity  by  those  who 
know  how  to  treat  him.  Mr.  Obadiah  Scantlebray  is 
the  man 

"  To  manufacture  idiots,  madam,  out  of  simple  inno- 
cents, it  is  worth  his  while  at  seventy  pounds  a  year," 
said  Uncle  Zachie,  petulantly. 

Miss  Trevisa  looked  at  him  stonily,  and  said :  "  Sir ! 
I  suppose  you  know  best.  But  it  strikes  me  that  such  a 
statement,  relative  to  Mr.  Obadiah  Scantlebray,  is  ac- 
tionable. But  you  know  best,  being-  a  solicitor." 

Mr.  Menaida  winced  and  drew  back. 

Judith  leaned  against  the  mantel-shelf,  trembling-  with 
anxiety  and  some  anger.  She  thought  that  her  aunt 
was  acting-  in  a  heartless  manner  toward  Jamie,  ^hat 
there  was  110  g-ood  reason  for  refusing1  the  generous  offer 
of  Uncle  Zachie.  In  her  agitation,  unable  to  keep  her 
fingers  at  rest,  the  girl  played  with  the  little  chimney 
ornaments.  She  must  occupy  her  nervous,  twitching 
hands  about  something ;  tears  of  distressed  mortification 
were  swelling  in  her  heart,  and  a  fire  was  burning  in  two 
flames  in  her  cheeks.  What  could-  she  do  to  save  Jamie  ? 
What  would  become  of  the  boy  at  the  asylum?  It 
seemed  to  her  that  he  would  be  driven  out  of  his  few 
wits,  by  terror  and  ill-treatment,  and  distress  at  leaving 
her  and  losing  his  liberty  to  ramble  about  the  cliffs 
where  he  liked.  In  a  vase  on  the  chimney-piece  was  a 
bunch  of  peacock's  feathers,  and  in  her  agitation,  not 
thinking  what  she  was  about,  desirous  only  of  having 
something  to  pick  at  and  play  with  in  her  hands,  to  dis- 
guise the  trembling  of  the  fingers,  she  took  out  one  of  the 
plumes  and  trifled  with  it,  waving  it  and  letting  the 
light  undulate  ove*  its  wondrous  surface  of  gold  and 
green  and  blue. 

"  As  long  as  I  have  responsibility  for  the  urchin — 
said  Miss  Dionysia. 

"  Urchin !  "  muttered  Judith. 

"  As  long  as  I  have  the  charge  I  shall  do  my  duty  ac- 
cording to  my  lights,  though  they  may  not  be  those  of  a 
rush-aproned  squaw  in  Timbuctoo,  nor  of  a  Jack  Pud- 
ding balancing  a  feather  on  his  nose."  There  was  here 
a  spiteful  glance  at  Judith.  "  When  my  niece  has  a 
home  of  her  own — is  settled  into  a  position  of  security 
and  comfort — then  I  wash  my  hands  of  the  responsibil- 
ity ;  she  may  do  what  she  likes  then — bring  her  brother 


216  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

to  live  with  her  if  she  chooses  and  her  husband  consents 
—that  will  be  naught  to  me." 

•'And  in  the  mean  time,"  said  Judith,  holding-  the 
peacock's  feather  very  still  before  her,  "  in  the  mean 
time  Jamie's  mind  is  withered  and  stunted — his  whole 
life  is  spoiled.  Now — now  alone  can  he  be  given  a  turn 
aright  and  toward  growth." 

"  That  entirely  depends  on  you,"  said  Miss  Trevisa, 
coldly.  "You  know  best  what  opportunities  have  of- 
fered  " 

"  Aunt,  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Wait,"  said  Uncle  Zachie,  rubbing  his  hands.  "  My 
boy  Oliver  is  coming  home.  He  has  written  his  situa- 
tion is  a  good  one  now." 

Miss  Trevisa  turned  on  him  with  a  face  of  marble.  "  I 
entirely  fail  to  see  what  your  son  Oliver  has  to  do  with 
the  matter,  more  than  the  man  in  the  moon.  May  I 
trouble  you,  as  you  so  deeply  interest  yourself  in  our 
concerns,  to  step  outside  to  Messrs.  Scantlebray  and  that 
boy,  and  ask  them  to  bring  him  in  here.  I  have  told 
them  what  the  circumstances  are,  and  they  are  pre- 
pared." 

Mr.  Menaida  left  the  room,  not  altogether  unwilling 
to  escape. 

"Now,"  said  Aunt  Dionysia,  "I  am  relieved  to  find 
that  for  a  minute,  we  are  by  ourselves,  not  subjected  to 
the  prying  and  eavesdropping  of  the  impertinent  and 
meddlesome.  Mr.  Menaida  is  a  man  who  never  did  good 
to  himself  or  to  anyone  else  in  his  life,  though  a  man 
with  the  best  intentions  under  the  sun.  Now,  Judith,  I 
am  a  plain  woman— that  is  to  say — not  plain,  but 
straightforward — and  I  like  to  have  everything  above 
board.  The  case  stands  thus.  I,  in  my  capacity  as 
guardian  to  that  boy,  am  resolved  to  consign  him  im- 
mediately to  the  asylum,  and  to  retain  him  there  as  long 
as  my  authority  lasts,  though  it  will  cost  me  a  pretty 
sum.  You  do  not  desire  that  he  should  go  there.  Well 
and  good.  There  is  but  one  way,  but  that  is  effectual, 
by  means  of  which  you  can  free  Jamie  from  restraint. 
Let  me  tell  you  he  is  now  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Obadiah, 
and  gagged  that  he  may  not  rouse  the  neighborhood 
with  his  screams."  Miss  Trevisa  fixed  her  hard  eyes  on 
Judith.  "  As  soon  as  you  take  the  responsibility  off  me, 
and  on  to  yourself,  you  do  with  the  boy  what  you  like." 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF   THE  SEA.  217 

"  I  will  relieve  you  at  once." 

"  You  are  not  in  a  condition  to  do  so.  As  soon  as  I 
am  satisfied  that  your  future  is  secure,  that  you  will  have 
a  house  to  call  your  own,  and  a  certainty  of  subsistence 
for  you  both — then  I  will  lay  down  my  charge." 

"  And  you  mean— 

"  I  mean  that  you  must  first  accept  Captain  Coppinger, 
who  has  been  good  enough  to  find  you  not  intolerable. 
He  is — in  this  one  particular — unreasonable,  however, 
he  is  what  he  is,  in  this  matter.  He  makes  yoii  the  offer, 
gives  you  the  chance.  Take  it,  and  you  provide  Jamie 
and  yourself  with  a  home,  he  has  his  freedom,  and  you 
can  manage  or  mismanage  him  as  you  list.  Refuse  the 
chance  and  Jamie  is  lodged  in  Mr.  Scantlebray's  estab- 
lishment within  an  hour." 

"  I  cannot  decide  this  011  the  spur  of  the  moment." 

"  Very  well.  You  can  let  Jamie  go  provisionally  to  the 
asylum — and  stay  there  till  you  have  made  up  your  mind." 

"  No — no — no — Aunt !   Never,  never  !  " 

"  As  you  will."  Miss  Trevisa  shrugged  her  shoulders, 
and  cast  a  glance  at  her  niece  like  a  dagger-stab. 

"  Auntie — I  am  but  a  child." 

"  That  may  be.  But  there  are  times  when  even  chil- 
dren must  decide  momentous  questions.  A  boy  as  a 
child  decides  on  his  profession,  a  girl — may  be — on  her 
marriage." 

"  Oh,  dear  Auntie  !  Do  leave  Jamie  here  for,  say  a  fort- 
night, and  in  a  fortnight  from  to-day  you  shall  have  my 
answer." 

"  No,"  answered  Miss  Trevisa,  "  I  also  must  decide  as 
to  my  future,  for  your  decision  affects  not  Jamie  only  but 
me  also." 

Judith  had  listened  in  great  self-restraint,  holding  the 
feather  before  her.  She  held  it  between  thumb  and  fore- 
finger of  both  hands,  not  concerning  herself  about  it, 
and  yet  with  her  eyes  watching  the  undulations  from  the 
end  of  the  quill  to  the  deep  blue  eye  set  in  a  halo  of 
gold  at  the  further  end,  and  the  feather  undulated  with 
every  rise  and  fall  of  her  bosom. 

"  Surely,  Auntie  !  You  cannot  wish  me  to  marry  Cruel 
Coppinger  I " 

"  I  have  no  wishes  one  way  or  the  other.  Please  your- 
self." 

"  But,  Auntie- 


218  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

"  You  profess  to  be  ready  to  do  all  you  can  for  Jamie 
and  yet  hesitate  about  relieving"  me  of  an  irksome  charge, 
and  Jamie  of  what  you  consider  barbarous  treatment." 

"  You  cannot  be  serious — /  to  marry  Captain  Cruel ! " 

"It  is  a  serious  offer." 

"  But  papa  ! — what  would  he  say  ? " 

"  I  never  was  in  a  position  to  tell  his  thoughts  and 
guess  what  his  words  would  be." 

"  But,  Auntie — he  is  such  a  bad  man." 

"  You  know  a  great  deal  more  about  him  than  I  do, 
of  course." 

"  But — he  is  a  smuggler,  I  do  know  that." 

"  Well — and  what  of  that.     There  is  no  crime  in  that." 

"It  is  not  an  honest  profession.  They  say,  too,  that 
he  is  a  wrecker." 

"  They  say  ! — who  say  ?  What  do  you  know  ?  " 

"Nothing,  but  I  am  not  likely  to  trust  my  future  to  a 
man  of  whom  such  tales  are  told.  Auntie !  Would  you, 
supposing  that  you  were  — 

"  I  will  have  none  of  your  suppositions,  I  never  did 
wear  a  rush  apron,  nor  act  as  Jack  Pudding." 

"  I  cannot — Captain  Cruel  of  all  men." 

"  Is  he  so  hateful  to  you  ?  " 

"  Hateful — no  ;  but  I  cannot  like  him.  He  has  been 
kind,  but — somehow  I  can't  think  of  him  as — as — as  a 
man  of  our  class  and  thoughts  and  ways,  as  one  worthy 
of  my  own,  own  papa.  No — it  is  impossible,  I  am  still 
a  child." 

She  took  the  end  of  the  peacock's  feather,  the  splendid 
eye  lustrous  with  metallic  beauty,  and  bowed  the  plume 
without  breaking  it,  and,  unconscious  of  what  she  was 
doing,  stroked  her  lips  with  it.  What  a  fragile  fine 
quill  that  was  on  which  hung  so  much  beauty  ?  and  how 
worthless  the  feather  would  be  when  that  quill  was 
broken.  And  so  with  her — her  fine,  elastic,  strong  spirit, 
that  when  bowed  sprang  to  its  uprightness  the  moment 
the  pressure  was  withdrawn ;  that  on  which  all  her  charm, 
her  beauty  hung-. 

"  Captain  Coppinger  has,  surely,  never  asked  you  to 
put  this  alternative  to  me  ?  " 

"  No— I  do  it  myself.  As  you  are  a  child,  you  are  un- 
fit to  take  charge  of  your  brother.  When  you  are  en- 
gaged to  be  married  you  are  a  woman ;  I  shift  my  load 
on  you  then." 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  219 

"And  you  wish  it?" 

"  I  repeat  I  have  no  wishes  in  the  matter." 

"  Give  me  time  to  consider." 

"  No.  It  must  be  decided  now — that  is  to  say  if  you 
do  not  wish  Jamie  to  be  taken  away.  Don't  fancy  I  want 
to  persuade  you ;  but  I  want  to  be  satisfied  about  my 
own  future.  I  shall  not  remain  in  Pentyre  with  you.  As 
you  enter  by  the  front  door,  I  leave  by  the  back." 

'k  Where  will  you  go  ?  " 

"  That  is  my  affair." 

Then  in  at  the  door  came  the  two  Scantlebrays  and 
Jamie  between  them,  gagged  and  with  his  hands  bound 
behind  his  back.  He  had  run  out,  directly  his  exami- 
nation was  over,  and  had  been  secured,  almost  without 
resistance,  so  taken  by  surprise  was  he,  and  reduced  to  a 
condition  of  helplessness. 

Judith  leaned  against  the  mantel-shelf,  with  every 
tinge  of  color  gone  out  of  her  cheeks.  Jamie's  fright- 
ened eyes  met  hers,  and  he  made  a  slight  struggle  to 
speak,  and  to  escape  to  her. 

"  You  have  a  close  conveyance  ready  for  your  pa- 
tient ?  "  asked  Aunt  Dionysia  of  the  brothers. 

"  Oh,  yes,  a  very  snug  little  box  on  wheels.  Scanty 
and  I  will  sit  with  our  young  man,  to  prevent  his  feeling 
dull,  you  know." 

"  You  understand,  gentlemen,  what  I  told  you,  that  in 
the  deciding  whether  the  boy  is  to  go  with  you  or  not,  I 
am  not  the  only  one  to  be  considered.  If  I  have  my 
will,  go  he  shall,  as  I  am  convinced  that  your  establish- 
ment is  the  very  place  for  him ;  but  my  niece,  Miss  Ju- 
dith, has  at  her  option  the  chance  of  taking  the  respon- 
sibility for  the  boy  off  my  shoulders,  and  if  she  chooses 
to  do  that,  why  then,  I  fear  she  will  continue  to  spoil 
him,  as  she  has  done  heretofore." 

"  It  has  cost  us  time  and  money,"  said  Scantlebray, 
senior. 

"  And  you  shall  be  paid,  whichever  way  is  decided,"  said 
Miss  Trevisa.  "  Every  thing  now  rests  with  my  niece." 

Judith  seemed  as  one  petrified.  One  hand  was  on 
her  bosom,  staying  her  heart,  the  other  held  the  pea- 
cock's feather  before  her,  horizontally.  Every  particle 
of  color  had  deserted,  not  her  face  only,  but  her  hands 
as  well.  Her  eyes  were  sunless,  her  lips  contracted  and 
livid.  She  was  motionless  as  a  parian  statue,  she  hardly 


220  7^  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

seemed  to  breathe.  She  perfectly  understood  what  her 
aunt  had  laid  upon  her,  her  bodily  sensations  were  dead 
whilst  a  conflict  of  ideas  raged  in  her  brain.  She  was 
the  arbiter  of  Jamie's  fate.  She  did  not  disguise  from 
herself  that  if  consigned  to  the  keeper  of  the  asylum, 
though  only  for  a  week  or  two,  he  would  not  leave  his 
charge  the  same  as  he  entered.  And  what  would  it 
avail  her  or  him  to  postpone  the  decision  a  week  or  a 
fortnight. 

The  brothers  Scantlebray  knew  nothing  of  the  ques- 
tion agitating  her,  but  they  saw  that  the  determination 
at  which  she  was  resolving  was  one  that  cost  her  all  her 
powers.  Mr.  Obadiah's  heavy  mind  did  not  exert  itself 
to  probe  the  secret,  but  the  more  eager  intellect  of  his 
elder  brother  was  alert,  and  wondering  what  might  be 
the  matter  that  so  affected  the  girl,  and  made  it  so  diffi- 
cult for  her  to  pronounce  the  decision.  The  hard  eyes  of 
Miss  Trevisa  were  fixed  on  her.  Judith's  answer  would 
decide  her  future — on  it  depended  Othello  Cottage,  and 
an  annuity  of  fifty  pounds.  Jamie  looked  through  a  veil 
of  tears  at  his  sister,  and  never  for  a  moment  turned 
them  from  her,  from  the  moment  of  his  entry  into  the 
room.  Instinctively  the  boy  felt  that  his  freedom  and 
happiness  depended  on  her. 

One  or  the  other  must  be  sacrificed.  That  Judith  saw 
Jamie  was  dull  of  mind,  but  there  were  possibilities  of 
development  in  it.  And,  even  if  he  remained  where  he 
was,  he  was  happy,  happy  and  really  harmless,  if  a  little 
mischievous ;  an  offer  had  been  made  which  was  likely 
to  lead  him  on  into  industrious  ways,  and  to  teach  him 
application.  He  loved  his  liberty,  loved  it  as  does  the 
gull.  In  an  asylum  he  would  pine,  his  mind  become 
more  enfeebled,  and  he  would  die.  But  then — what  a 
price  must  be  paid  to  save  him  ?  Oh,  if  she  could  have 
put  the  question  to  her  father.  But  she  had  none  to 
appeal  to  for  advice.  If  she  gave  to  Jamie  liberty  and 
happiness,  it  was  at  the  certain  sacrifice  of  her  own. 
But  there  was  no  evading  the  decision,  one  or  the  other 
must  go. 

She  stretched  forth  the  peacock's  feather,  laid  the 
great  indigo  blue  eye  on  the  bands  that  held  Jamie,  on 
his  gagged  lips,  and  said :  "  Let  him  go." 

"  You  agree  !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Trevisa. 

Judith  doubled  the  peacock's  feather  and  broke  it. 


CHAPTEK  XXX. 

THROUGH  THE  TAMARISKS. 

For  some  time  after  Judith  had  given  her  consent,  and 
had  released  Jamie  from  the  hands  of  the  Scantlebrays, 
she  remained  still  and  white.  Uncle  Zachie  missed  the 
music  to  which  he  had  become  used,  and  complained. 
She  then  seated  herself  at  the  piano,  but  was  distraught, 
played  badly,  and  the  old  bird-stuifer  went  away  grum- 
bling to  his  shop. 

Jamie  was  happy,  delighted  not  to  be  afflicted  with 
lessons,  and  forgot  past  troubles  in  present  pleasures. 
That  the  recovery  of  his  liberty  had  been  bought  at  a 
heavy  price,  he  did  not  know,  and  would  not  have  ap- 
preciated it  had  he  been  told  the  sacrifice  Judith  had 
been  ready  to  make  for  his  sake. 

In  the  garden  behind  the  cottage  was  an  arbor,  com- 
posed of  half  a  boat  set  up,  that  is  to  say,  an  old  boat 
sawn  in  half,  and  erected  so  that  it  served  as  a  shelter 
to  a  seat,  which  was  fixed  into  the  earth  on  posts.  From 
one  side  of  this  boat  a  trellis  had  been  drawn,  and  cov- 
ered with  eschalonia,  and  a  seat  placed  here  as  well,  so 
that  in  this  rude  arbor  it  was  possible  for  more  than  one 
to  find  accommodation.  Here  Judith  and  Jamie  often  sat ; 
the  back  of  the  boat  was  set  against  the  prevailing  wind 
from  the  sea,  and  on  this  coast  the  air  is  unusually 
soft  at  the  same  time  that  it  is  bracing,  enjoyable  wher- 
ever a  little  shelter  is  provided  against  its  violence. 
For  violent  it  can  be,  and  can  buffet  severely,  yet  its 
blows  are  those  of  a  pillow. 

Here  Judith  was  sitting  one  afternoon,  alone,  lost  in 
a  dream,  when  Uncle  Zachie  came  into  the  garden  with 
his  pipe  in  his  mouth,  to  stretch  his  legs,  after  a  few 
minutes'  work  at  stuffing  a  cormorant. 

In  her  lap  lay  a  stocking  Judith  was  knitting  for  her 
brother,  but  she  had  made  few  stitches,  and  yet  had  been 
an  hour  in  the  summer-house.  The  garden  of  Mr.  Men- 


222  IN  THE  HOAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

aida  was  hedged  off  from  a  neighbor's  grounds  by  a  low 
wall  of  stone  and  clay  and  sand,  in  and  out  of  wrhich 
grew  roughly  strong  tamarisks  now  in  their  full  pale 
pink  blossom.  The  eyes  of  Judith  had  been  on  these 
tamarisks,  waving  like  plumes  in  the  sea-air,  when  she 
was  startled  from  her  reverie  by  the  voice  of  Uncle 
Zachie. 

"  Why,  Miss  Judith !  "What  is  the  matter  with  you  ? 
Dull,  eh  ?  Ah — wait  a  bit,  when  Oliver  comes  home  we 
shall  have  mirth.  He  is  full  of  merriment.  A  bright 
boy  and  a  good  son ;  altogether  a  fellow  to  be  proud  of, 
though  I  say  it.  He  will  return  at  the  fall." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,  Mr.  Menaida.  You  have  not 
seen  him  for  many  years." 

"Not  for  ten." 

"  It  will  be  a  veritable  feast  to  you.  Does  he  remain 
long  in  England  ? " 

"  I  cannot  say.  If  his  employers  find  work  for  him  at 
home,  then  at  home  he  will  tarry,  but  if  they  consider 
themselves  best  served  by  him  at  Oporto,  then  to  Portu- 
gal must  he  return." 

"  Will  you  honor  me  by  taking  a  seat  near  me — under 
the  trellis  1 "  asked  Judith.  "  It  will  indeed  be  a  pleasure 
to  me  to  have  a  talk  with  you ;  and  I  do  need  it  very 
sore.  My  heart  is  so  full  that  I  feel  I  must  spill  some 
of  it  before  a  friend." 

"  Then  indeed  I  will  hold  out  both  hands  to  catch  the 
sweetness." 

"  Nay — it  is  bitter,  not  sweet,  bitter  as  gall,  and  briny 
as  the  ocean." 

"  Not  possible  ;  a  little  salt  gives  savor." 

She  shook  her  head,  took  up  the  stocking,  did  a  couple 
of  stitches,  and  put  it  down  again.  The  sea-breeze  that 
tossed  the  pink  bunches  of  tamarisk  waved  stray  tresses 
of  her  red-gold  hair,  but  somehow  the  brilliancy,  the 
burnish,  seemed  gone  from  it.  Jler  eyes  were  sunken, 
and  there  was  a  greenish  tinge  about  the  ivory  white 
surrounding  her  mouth. 

"  I  cannot  work,  dear  Mr.  Menaida ;  I  am  so  sorry  that 
I  should  have  played  badly  that  sonata  last  night.  I  knew 
it  fretted  you,  but  I  could  not  help  myself,  my  mind  is  so 
selfishly  directed  that  I  cannot  attend  to  anything  even 
of  Beethoven's  in  music,  nor  to  stocking-knitting  even  for 
Jamie." 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  223 

"  And  what  are  the  bitter — briny  thoughts  ?  " 

Judith  did  not  answer  at  once,  she  looked  down  into 
her  lap,  and  Mr.  Menaida,  whose  pipe  was  choked,  went 
to  the  tamarisks  and  plucked  a  little  piece,  stripped  off 
the  flower  and  proceeded  to  clear  the  tube  with  it." 

Presently,  while  Uncle  Zachie's  eyes  were  engaged  on 
the  pipe,  Judith  looked  up,  and  said  hastily,  "  I  am  very 
young,  Mr.  Menaida." 

"  A  fault  in  process  of  rectification  every  day,"  said  he, 
blowing  through  the  stem  of  his. pipe.  "I  think  it  is 
clear  now." 

"  I  mean — young  to  be  married." 

"  To  be  married  !  Zounds  !  "  He  turned  his  eyes  on 
her  in  surprise,  holding  the  tamarisk  spill  in  one  hand 
and  the  pipe  in  the  other,  poised  in  the  air. 

"  You  have  not  understood  that  I  got  Jamie  off  the 
other  day  only  by  taking  full  charge  of  him  upon  myself 
and  relieving  my  aunt." 

"  But — good  gracious,  you  are  not  going  to  marry 
your  brother." 

"  My  aunt  would  not  transfer  the  guardianship  to  me 
unless  I  were  qualified  to  undertake  and  exercise  it  prop- 
erly, according  to  her  ideas,  and  that  could  be  only  by 
my  becoming  engaged  to  be  married  to  a  man  of  sub- 
stance." 

"  Goodness  help  me  !  what  a  startlement !  And  who  is 
the  happy  man  to  be  ?  Not  Scantlebray,  senior,  I  trust, 
whose  wife  is  dying." 

"  No — Captain  Coppinger." 

"  Cruel  Coppinger !  "  Uncle  Zachie  put  down  his  pipe 
so  suddenly  on  the  bench  by  him  that  he  broke  it. 
"  Cruel  Coppinger !  never !  " 

She  said  nothing  to  this,  but  rose  and  walked,  with  her 
head  down,  along  the  bank,  and  put  her  hands  among  the 
waving  pink  bunches  of  tamarisk  bloom,  sweeping  the 
heads  with  her  own  delicate,  hand  as  she  passed.  Then 
she  came  back  to  the  boat  arbor  and  reseated  herself. 

"  Dear  me !  Bless  my  heart !  I  could  not  have  credited 
it,"  gasped  Mr.  Menaida,  "  and  I  had  such  different  plans 
in  my  head — but  there,  no  more  about  them." 

"  I  had  to  make  my  election  whether  to  take  him  and 
qualify  to  become  Jamie's  guardian,  or  refrain,  and  then 
he  would  have  been  snatched  away  and  imprisoned  in 
that  odious  place  again." 


224  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

"  But,  my  dear  Miss  Judith — "  the  old  man  was  so  agi- 
tated that  he  did  not  know  what  he  was  about ;  he  put  the 
stick  of  tamarisk  into  his  mouth  in  place  of  his  pipe,  and 
took  it  out  to  speak,  put  down  his  hand,  picked  up  the 
bowl  of  his  pipe,  and  tapped  the  end  of  the  tamarisk 
spill  with  that ;  "  mercy  save  me !  What  a  world  we  do 
live  in.  And  I  had  been  building-  for  you  a  castle — not 
in  Spain,  but  in  a  contiguous  country  —  who'd  have 
thought  it  ?  And  Cruel  Coppinger,  too !  Upon  my  soul 
I  don't  want  to  say  I  am  sorry  for  it,  and  I  can't  find  in 
my  heart  to  say  I'm  glad." 

"  I  do  not  expect  that  you  will  be  glad — not  if  you 
have  any  love  for  me." 

The  old  man  turned  round,  his  eyes  were  watering  and 
his  face  twitching. 

"  I  have,  Heaven  knows  !  I  have — yes — I  mean  Miss 
Judith." 

"  Mr.  Menaida,"  said  the  girl,  "  you  have  been  so  kind, 
so  considerate,  that  I  should  like  to  call  you  what  every 
one  else  does — when  speaking  of  you  to  one  another — 
not  to  your  face — Uncle  Zachie." 

He  put  out  his  hand,  it  was  shaking,  and  caught  hers. 
He  put  the  ends  of  the  fingers  to  his  lips  ;  but  he  kept 
his  face  averted,  and  the  water  that  had  formed  in  his 
eyes  ran  down  his  cheeks.  He  did  not  venture  to  speak. 
He  had  lost  command  over  his  voice. 

"  You  see,  uncle,  I  have  no  one  of  whom  to  ask  counsel. 
I  have  only  aunt,  and  she — somehow — I  feel  that  I  can- 
not go  to  her,  and  get  from  her  the  advice  best  suited  to 
me.  Now  papa  is  dead  I  am  entirely  alone,  and  I  have 
to  decide  on  matters  most  affecting  my  own  life,  and  that 
of  Jamie.  I  do  so  crave  for  a  friend  who  could  give  me 
an  opinion — but  I  have  no  one,  if  you  refuse." 

He  pressed  her  hand. 

"  Not  that  now  I  can  go  back  from  my  word.  I  have 
passed  that  to  Aunt  Dionysia,  and  draw  back  I  may  not ; 
but  somehow,  as  I  sit  and  think,  and  think,  and  try  to 
screw  myself  up  to  the  resolution  that  must  be  reached 
of  giving  up  my  hand  and  my  whole  life  into  the  power 
of — of  that  man,  I  cannot  attain  to  it.  I  feel  like  one 
who  is  condemned  to  cast  himself  down  a  precipice  and 
shrinks  from  it,  cannot  make  up  his  mind  to  spring,  but 
draws  back  after  every  run  made  to  the  edge.  Tell  me — 
uncle— tell  me  truly,  what  do  you  think  about  Captain 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  225 

Coppinger  ?    "What  do  you  know  about  him  ?    Is  he  a 
very  wicked  man  ?  " 

"  You  ask  me  what  I  think,  and  also  what  I  know,"  said 
Mr.  Menaida,  releasing-  her  hand.  "  I  know  nothing-, 
but  I  have  my  thoughts." 

"  Then  tell  me  what  you  think." 

"  As  I  have  said,  I  know  nothing.  I  do  not  know 
whence  he  comes.  Some  say  he  is  a  Dane,  some  that  he 
is  an  Irishman.  I  cannot  tell,  I  know  nothing,  but  I 
think  his  intonation  is  Irish,  and  I  have  heard  that  there 
is  a  family  of  that  name  in  Ireland.  But  this  is  all  guess- 
work. One  thing  I  do  know,  he  speaks  French  like  a 
native.  Then,  as  to  his  character,  I  believe  him  to  be  a 
man  of  ungovernable  temper,  who,  when  his  blood  is 
roused  will  stick  at  nothing.  I  think  him  a  man  of  very 
few  scruples.  But  he  has  done  liberal  things — he  is 
open-handed,  that  all  say.  A  hard  liver,  and  with  a 
rough  tongue,  and  yet  with  some  of  the  polish  of  a 
gentleman ;  a  man  with  the  passions  of  a  devil,  but  not 
without  in  him  some  sparks  of  divine  light.  That  is 
what  I  think  him  to  be.  And  if  you  ask  me  further, 
whether  I  think  him  a  man  calculated  to  make  you  happy 
—I  say  decidedly  that  he  is  not." 

Earely  before  in  his  life  had  Mr.  Menaida  spoken  with 
such  decision. 

'  He  has  been  kind  to  me,"  said  Judith.    "  Very  kind." 

'  Because  he  is  in  love  with  you." 

'  And  gentle — 

'  Have  you  ever  done  aught  to  anger  him  ? " 

'  Yes.  I  threw  him  down  and  broke  his  arm  and 
collar-bone." 

'  And  won  his  heart  by  so  doing." 

'  Uncle  Zachie,  he  is  a  smuggler." 

'  Yes — there  is  no  doubt  about  that." 

'  Do  you  suppose  if  I  were  to  entreat  him  that  he 
would  abandon  smuggling  ?  I  have  already  had  it  in 
my  heart  to  ask  him  this,  but  I  could  not  bring  the  re- 
quest over  my  lips." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  if  you  asked  him  to  throw  up  his 
smuggling  that  he  would  promise  to  do  so.  Whether  he 
would  keep  his  promise  is  another  matter.  Many  a  girl 
has  made  her  lover  swear  to  give  up  gambling,  and  on 
that  understanding  has  married  him ;  but  I  reckon  none 
have  been  able  to  keep  their  husbands  to  the  engage- 


226  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

ment.  Gambling,  smuggling-,  and  poaching,  my  dear, 
are  in  the  blood. .  A  man  brings  the  love  of  adventure, 
the  love  of  running  a  risk,  into  the  world  with  him.  If  I 
had  been  made  by  my  wife  to  swear  when  I  married  never 
to  touch  a  musical  instrument,  I  might  out  of  love  for 
her  have  sworn,  but  I  could  not  have  kept  my  oath. 
And  you — if  you  vowed  to  keep  your  fingers  from  needle 
and  thread,  and  saw  your  gown  in  rags,  or  your  hus- 
band's linen  frayed — would  find  an  irresistible  itch  in  the 
finger  ends  to  mend  and  hem,  and  you  would  do  it,  in 
spite  of  your  vows.  So  with  a  gambler,  a  poacher,  and  a 
smuggler,  the  instinct,  the  passion  is  in  them  and  is 
irresistible.  Don't  impose  any  promise  on  Captain  Cruel, 
it  will  not  influence  him." 

"  They  tell  me  he  is  a  wrecker." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  a  wrecker  ?  We  are  all  wreck- 
ers, after  a  storm,  when  a  merchantman  has  gone  to 
pieces  on  the  rocks,  and  the  shore  is  strewn  with  prizes. 
I  have  taken  what  I  could,  and  I  see  no  harm  in  it 
When  the  sea  throws  treasures  here  and  there,  it  is  a 
sin  not  to  take  them  up  and  use  them  and  be  thankful." 

"I  do  not  mean  that.  I  mean  that  he  has  been  the 
means  of  luring  ships  to  their  destruction." 

"  Of  that  I  know  nothing.  Stories  circulate  when- 
ever there  is  a  wreck  not  in  foul  weather  or  with  a  wind 
on  shore.  But  who  can  say  whether  they  be  true  or 
false  ? " 

"  And  about  that  man,  Wyvill.  Did  he  kill  him  *? " 
"  There  also  I  can  say  nothing,  because  I  know  nothing. 
All  that  can  be  said  about  the  matter  is  that  the  Prevent- 
ive man  Wyvill  was  found  at  sea — or  washed  ashore 
without  his  head.  A  shark  may  have  done  it,  and  sharks 
have  been  found  off  pur  coast.  I  cannot  tell.  There  is 
not  a  shadow  of  evidence  that  could  justify  an  indict- 
ment. All  that  can  be  stated  that  makes  against  Cop- 
pinger  is  that  the  one  is  a  smuggler,  the  other  was  a 
Preventive  man,  and  that  the  latter  was  found  dead  and 
with  his  head  off,  an  unusual  circumstance,  but  not  suf- 
ficient to  show  that  he  had  been  decapitated  by  any 
man,  nor  that  the  man  who  decapitated  him  was  Cop- 
pinger." 

Then  Mr.  Menaida  started  up  :  "  And — you  sell  your- 
self to  this  man  for  Jamie  ?  " 

"  Yes,  uncle,  to  make  a  man  of  Jamie." 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  227 

*'  Ou  the  chance,  Judith,  on  the  very  doubtful  chance 
of  making"  a  man  of  Jamie,  you  rush  on  the  certainty  of 
making'  a  ruin  of  yourself.  That  man — that  Coppinger 
to  be  trusted  with  you !  A  fair  little  vessel,  richly 
laden,  with  silken  sail,  and  cedar  sides,  comes  skimmer- 
ing-  over  the  sea,  and — Heaven  forgive  me  if  I  judge 
wrongly — but  I  think  he  is  a  wrecker,  enticing-,  con- 
straining- you  on  to  the  reefs  where  you  will  break  up, 
and  all  your  treasures  will— not  fall  to  him — but  sink ; 
and  all  that  will  remain  of  you  will  be  a  battered  and 
broken  hull,  and  a  draggled  discolored  sail.  I  cannot — 
I  cannot  endure  the  thong-lit." 

"  Yet  it  must  be  endured,  faced  and  endured  by  me." 
said  Judith.  "  You  are  a  cruel  comforter,  Uncle  Zachie. 
I  called  you  to  encourag-e  me,  and  you  cast  me  down  j  to 
lighten  my  load,  and  you  heap  more  on." 

"  I  can  do  no  other,"  gasped  Mr.  Menaida.  Then  he 
sprang-  back,  with  open  mouth,  ag-hast.  He  saw  Cruel 
Coppinger  on  the  other  side  of  the  hedge,  he  had  put 
his  hands  to  the  tamarisk  bushes,  and  thrust  them  apart 
and  was  looking  through. 

"  Goldfish  !  "  called  Captain  Coppinger,  "  Goldfish, 
come ! " 

Judith  knew  the  voice  and  looked  in  the  direction 
whence  it  came,  and  saw  the  large  hands  of  Coppinger 
holding  back  the  boughs  of  tamarisk,  his  dark  face  in 
the  gap.  She  rose  at  once  and  stepped  toward  him. 

"  You  are  ill,"  he  said,  fixing  his  sombre  eyes  on  her. 

"  I  am  not  ill  in  body,  I  have  had  much  to  harass  my 
mind." 

"  Yes,  that  Wadebridge  business." 

"  What  has  sprung  out  of  it  ?  " 

"  Shall  I  come  to  you,  or  will  you  to  me  1 — through  the 
tamarisks  ? " 

"  As  you  will,  Captain  Coppinger." 

"  Come,  then — up  on  to  the  hedge  and  jump — I  will 
catch  you  in  my  arms.  I  have  held  you  there  ere  this." 

"  Yes,  you  have  taken  me  up,  now  must  I  throw- 
She  did  not  finish  the  sentence ;  she  meant,  must  she 
voluntarily  throw  herself  into  his  arms  ? 

She  caught  hold  of  the  bushes  and  raised  herself  to 
the  top  of  the  hedge. 

"  By  Heaven  !  "  said  he.  "  The  tamarisk  flowers  have 
more  color  in  them  than  your  face." 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

She  stood  on  the  summit  of  the  bank,  the  tamarisks 
rising-  to  her  knees,  waving  in  the  wind  about  her. 
Must  she  resign  herself  to  that  man  of  whom  she  knew 
so  little,  whom  she  feared  so  greatly  ?  There  was  no 
help  for  it.  She  must.  He  held  out  his  arms.  She 
sprang,  and  he  caught  her. 

"  I  have  you  now,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh  of  triumph. 
''  You  have  come  to  me,  and  I  will  never  give  you  up." 


CHAPTEE  XXXI. 

AMONG  THE  SAND-HEAPS. 

Coppinger  held  her  in  his  arms,  shook  her  hair  out 
that  it  streamed  over  his  arm,  and  looked  into  her  up- 
turned face.  "  Indeed  you  are  light,  lighter  than  when 
I  bore  you  in  my  arms  before ;  and  you  are  thin  and 
white,  and  the  eyes,  how  red.  You  have  been  crying. 
What !  this  spirit,  strong  as  a  steel  spring,  so  subdued 
that  it  gives  way  to  weeping ! " 

Judith's  eyes  were  closed  against  the  strong  light 
from  the  sky  above,  and  against  the  sight  of  his  face 
bent  over  hers,  and  the  fire  glint  of  his  eyes,  dark  as  a 
thundercloud  and  as  charged  with  lightnings.  And  now 
there  was  a  flashing  of  fire  from  them,  of  love  and  pride 
and  admiration.  The  strong  man  trembled  beneath  his 
burden  in  the  vehemence  of  his  emotion.  The  boiling 
and  paining  of  his  heart  within  him,  as  he  held  the  frail 
child  in  his  arms,  and  knew  she  was  to  be  his  own,  his 
own  wholly,  in  a  short  space.  It  was  for  the  moment  to 
him  as  though  all  earth  and  sea  and  heaven  were  dis- 
solved with  nebulous  chaos,  and  the  only  life — the  only 
pulses  in  the  universe — were  in  him  and  the  little  creature 
he  held  to  his  breast.  He  looked  into  her  face,  down  on 
her  as  Vesuvius  must  have  looked  down  on  lovely,  marble, 
white  Pompeii,  with  its  gilded  roofs  and  incense-scented 
temples,  and  restrained  itself,  as  long  as  restrain  its 
molten  heart  it  could,  before  it  poured  forth  its  fires  and 
consumed  the  pearly  city  lying  in  its  arms. 

He  looked  at  her  closed  eyelids  with  the  long  golden 
lashes  resting  on  the  dark  sunken  dip  beneath,  at  the 
delicate  mouth  drawn  as  with  pain,  at  the  white  temples 
in  which  slowly  throbbed  the  blue  veins,  at  the  profu- 
sion of  red-gold  hair  streaming  over  his  arm  and  almost 
touching  the  ground. 

She  knew  that  his  eyes — on  fire — were  on  her,  and  she 


230  IN  THE  ROAH  OF  THE  SEA. 

dared  not  meet  them,  for  there  would  be  a  shrinking 
from  him,  no  responsive  leap  of  flame  from  hers. 

"Shall  I  carry  you  about  like  this?"  he  asked.  "I 
could  and  I  would,  to  the  world's  end,  and  leap  with  you 
thence  into  the  unfathomed  abyss." 

Her  head,  leaning-  back  on  his  arm,  with  the  gold  rain 
falling  from  it,  exposed  her  long  and  delicate  throat  of 
exquisite  purity  of  tint  and  beauty  of  modelling,  and  as 
it  lay  a  little  tuft  of  pink  tamarisk  blossom,  brushed  off 
in  her  lap  into  his  arms,  and  then  caught  in  the  light 
edging  of  her  dress,  at  the  neck. 

"  And  you  come  to  me  of  your  own  will  ? "  he  said. 

Then  Judith  slightly  turned  her  head  to  avoid  his 
eyes,  and  said,  "  I  have  come — it  was  unavoidable.  Let 
me  down,  that  we  may  speak  together." 

He  obeyed  with  reluctance.  Then,  standing  before 
him,  she  bound  up  and  fastened  her  hair. 

"Look!"  said  he,  and  threw  open  his  collar.  A  ribbon 
was  tied  about  his  throat.  "  Do  you  see  this  ? "  He 
loosed  the  band  and  held  it  to  her.  One  delicate  line  of 
gold  ran  along  the  silk,  fastened  to  it  by  threads  at  in- 
tervals. "  Your  own  hair.  The  one  left  with  me  when 
you  first  heard  me  speak  of  my  heart's  wish,  and  you  dis- 
dained me  and  went  your  way.  You  left  me  that  one 
hair,  and  that  one  hair  I  have  kept  wound  round  my 
neck  ever  since,  and  it  has  seemed  to  me  that  I  might 
still  have  caught  my  goldfish,  my  saucy  goldfish  that 
swam  away  from  my  hook  at  first." 

Judith  said  calmly j  "  Let  us  walk  together  somewhere 
—to  St.  Enodoc,  to  my  father's  grave,  and  there,  over 
that  sand-heap  we  will  settle  what  must  be  settled." 

"I  will  go  with  you  where  you  will.  You  are  my 
Queen,  I  your  subject — it  is  my  place  to  obey." 

"  The  subject  has  sometimes  risen  and  destroyed  the 
Queen  ;  it  has  been  so  in  France." 

"  Yes,  when  the  subject  has  been  too  hardly  treated, 
too  down-trodden,  not  allowed  to  look  on  and  adore  the 
Queen." 

"  And,"  said  Judith  further,  "  let  us  walk  in  silence, 
allow  me  the  little  space  between  here  and  my  father's 
grave  to  collect  my  thoughts,  bear  with  me  for  that  short 
distance." 

"  As  you  will.  I  am  your  slave,  as  I  have  told  you,  and 
you  my  mistress  have  but  to  command." 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  231 

"  Yes,  but  the  slave  sometimes  becomes  the  master, 
and  then  is  all  the  more  tyrannous  because  of  his  former 
servitude." 

So  they  walked  tog-ether,  yet  apart,  from  Polzeath  to 
St.  Enodoc,  neither  speaking-,  and  it  might  have  been  a 
mourner's  walk  at  a  funeral.  She  held  her  head  down, 
and  did  not  raise  her  eyes  from  the  ground,  but  he  con- 
tinued to  gaze  on  her  with  a  glow  of  triumph  and  exul- 
tation in  his  face. 

They  reached  at  length  the  deserted  church,  sunken  in 
the  sands ;  it  had  a  hole  broken  in  the  wall  under  the 
eaves  in  the  south,  rudely  barricaded,  throug-h  which  the 
sacred  building  might  be  entered  for  such  functions  as  a 
marriage,  or  the  first  part  of  the  funeral  office  that  must 
be  performed  in  a  church. 

The  roof  was  of  pale  gray  slate,  much  broken,  folding 
over  the  rafters  like  the  skins  on  the  ribs  of  an  old 
horse  past  work.  The  church-yard  was  covered  with 
plain  sand.  Gravestones  were  in  process  of  being  buried 
like  those  whom  they  commemorated.  Some  peeped 
above  the  sand,  with  a  fat  cherub's  head  peering  above 
the  surface.  Others  stood  high  on  the  land  side,  but 
were  banked  up  by  sand  toward  the  sea.  Here  the 
church-yard  surface  was  smooth,  there  it  was  tossed  with 
undulations,  according  as  the  sand  had  been  swept  over 
portions  tenanted  by  the  poor  who  were  uiicommemo- 
rated  with  head-stones,  or  over  those  where  the  well-to-do 
lay  with  their  titles  and  virtues  registered  above  them. 

There  was  as  yet  no  monument  erected  over  the  grave 
of  the  Reverend  Peter  Trevisa,  sometime  rector  of  St. 
Enodoc.  The  mound  had  been  turfed  over  and  bound 
down  with  withes.  The  loving  hands  of  his  daughter 
had  planted  some  of  the  old  favorite  flowers  from  the 
long  walk  at  the  rectory  above  where  he  lay,  but  they 
had  not  as  yet  taken  to  the  soil,  the  sand  ill  agreed  with 
them,  and  the  season  of  the  year  when  their  translation 
had  taken  place  dissatisfied  them,  and  they  looked  for- 
lorn, drooping,  and  doubted  whether  they  would  make 
the  struggle  to  live. 

Below  the  church  lay  the  mouths  of  the  Camel,  blue 
between  sand-hills,  with  the  Doom  Bar,  a  long  and 
treacherous  band  of  shifting  sands  in  the  midst. 

On  reaching  the  graveyard  Judith  signed  to  Captain 
Coppinger  to  seat  himself  on  a  flat  tombstone  on  the 


232  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

south  side  of  her  father's  grave,  and  she  herself  leaned 
against  the  headstone  that  marked  her  mother's  tomb. 

"  I  think  we  should  come  to  a  thorough  understanding," 
she  said,  with  composure,  "that  you^  may  not  expect 
of  me  what  I  cannot  give,  and  know  the  reason  why  I 
give  you  anything.  You  call  me  Goldfish.  Why  ? " 

"  Because  of  your  golden  hair." 

"No — that  was  not  what  sprung  the  idea  in  your  brain, 
it  was  something  I  said  to  you,  that  you  and  I  stood  to 
each  other  in  the  relation  of  bird  of  prey  to  fish,  be- 
longing to  distinct  modes  of  life  and  manner  of  think- 
ing, and  that  we  could  never  be  to  one  another  in  any 
other  relation  than  that,  the  falcon  and  his  prey,  the 
flame  and  its  fuel,  the  wreckers  and  the  wrecked." 

Coppinger  started  up  and  became  red  as  blood. 

"  These  are  strange  words,"  he  said. 

"It  is  the  same  that  I  said  before." 

"  Then  why  have  you  given  yourself  to  me  ?  " 

"  I  have  resigned  myself  to  you.  as  I  cannot  help  my- 
self any  more  than  the  fish  can  that  is  pounced  on  by 
the  sea-bird,  or  the  fuel  that  is  enveloped  by  the  flame, 
or  the  ship  that  is  boarded  by  the  wrecker." 

She  looked  at  him  steadily ;  he  was  quivering  with 
excitement,  anger,  and  disappointment. 

"  It  is  quite  right  that  you  should  know  what  to  ex- 
pect, and  make  no  more  demands  on  me  that  I  am  capa- 
ble of  answering.  You  cannot  ask  of  me  that  I  should 
become  like  you,  and  I  do  not  entertain  the  foolish 
thought  that  you  could  be  brought  to  be  like  me — to  see 
through  my  eyes,  feel  with  my  heart.  My  dead  father 
lies  between  us  now,  and  he  will  ever  be  between  us — he 
a  man  of  pure  life,  noble  aspirations,  a  man  of  books,  of 
high  principle,  fearing  God  and  loving  men.  What  he 
was  he  tried  to  make  me.  Imperfectly,  faultily,  I  follow 
him,  but  though  unable  to  be  like  him,  I  strive  after 
what  he  showed  me  should  be  my  ideal." 

"  You  are  a  child.  You  will  be  a  woman,  and  new 
thoughts  will  come  to  you." 

"Will  they  be  good  and  honorable  and  contented 
thoughts  ?  Shall  I  find  those  in  your  house  ?  " 

Coppinger  did  not  reply,  his  brows  were  drawn  to- 
gether and  his  face  became  dark. 

"  Why,"  then,  have  you  promised  to  come  to  me  ?  " 

"Because  of  Jamie." 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  233 

He  uttered  an  oath,  and  with  his  hands  clenched  the 
upper  stone  of  the  tomb. 

"I  have  promised  my  aunt  that  I  will  accept  you,  if 
you  will  suffer  my  poor  brother  to  live  where  I  liye, 
and  suffer  me  to  be  his  protector.  He  is  helpless  and 
must  have  someone  to  think  and  watch  for  him.  My 
aunt  would  have  sent  him  to  Mr.  Obadiah  Scantlebray's 
asylum,  and  that  would  have  been  fatal  to  him.  To  save 
him  from  that  I  said  that  I  would  be  yours,  on  the  con- 
dition that  my  home  should  be  his  home.  I  have  passed 
my  word  to  my  aunt,  and  I  will  not  go  from  it,  but  that 
does  not  mean  that  I  have  changed  my  belief  that  we 
are  unfitted  for  each  other,  because  we  belong  to  different 
orders  of  being." 

"  This  is  cold  comfort." 

"  It  is  cold  as  ice,  but  it  is  all  that  I  have  to  give  to 
you.  I  wish  to  put  everything  plainly  before  you  now, 
that  there  may  be  no  misapprehension  later,  and  you 
may  be  asking  of  me  what  I  cannot  give,  and  be  angry 
at  not  receiving  what  I  never  promised  to  surrender." 

"So!  I  am  only  accepted  for  the  sake  of  that  boy, 
Jamie." 

"  It  is  painful  for  me  to  say  what  I  do — as  painful  as 
it  must  be  for  you  to  hear  it,  but  I  cannot  help  myself. 
I  wish  to  put  all  boldly  and  hardly  before  you  before  an 
irrevocable  step  is  taken  such  as  might  make  us  both 
wretched.  I  take  you  for  Jamie's  sake.  Were  his  happi- 
ness, his  well-being  not  in  the  scale,  I  would  not  take 
you.  I  \vould  remain  free." 

"  That  is  plain  enough,"  exclaimed  Coppinger,  setting 
his  teeth,  and  he  broke  off  a  piece  of  the  tombstone  on 
which  he  was  half  sitting. 

"  You  will  ask  of  me  love,  honor,  and  obedience.  I  will 
do  my  best  to  love  you — like  you  I  do  now,  for  you  have 
been  kind  and  good  to  me,  and  I  can  never  forget  what 
you  have  done  for  me.  But  it  is  a  long  leap  from  liking 
to  loving,  still  I  will  try  my  best,  and  if  I  fail  it  will  not 
be  for  lack  of  effort.  Honor  is  another  matter.  That 
lies  in  your  own  power  to  give.  If  you  behave  as  a  good 
and  worthy  man  to  your  fellows,  and  justly  toward  me, 
of  course  I  shall  honor  you.  I  must  honor  what  is  de- 
serving of  honor,  and  where  I  honor  there  I  may  come 
to  love.  I  cannot  love  where  I  do  not  honor,  so  perhaps* 
I  may  say  that  my  heart  is  in  your  hands,  and  that  ii 


234  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

those  hands  are  clean  and  righteous  in  their  dealings  it 
may  become  yours  some  time.  As  to  obedience  —  that 
you  shall  command.  That  I  will  render  to  you  frankly 
and  fully  in  all  things  lawful." 

"  You  offer  me  an  orange  from  which  all  the  juice  has 
been  squeezed,  a  nut  without  a  kernel." 

"  I  offer  you  all  I  have  to  offer.  Is  it  worth  your  while 
having  this  ? " 

k'  Yes ! "  said  he  angrily,  starting  up,  "  I  will  have 
what  I  can  and  wring  the  rest  out  of  you,  when  once  you 
are  mine." 

"  You  never  will  wring  anything  out  of  me.  I  give 
what  I  may,  but  nothing  will  I  yield  to  force." 

He  looked  at  her  sullenly  and  said,  "  A  child  in  years 
with  an  old  head  and  a  stony  heart." 

"  I  have  always  lived  with  my  father,  and  so  have 
come  to  think  like  one  that  is  old,"  said  Judith,  "  and 
now,  alone  in  the  world,  I  must  think  with  ripened 
wits." 

"  I  do  not  want  that  precocious,  wise  soul,  if  that  be 
the  kernel.  I  will  have  the  shell — the  glorious  shell. 
Keep  your  wisdom  and  righteousness  and  piety  for  your- 
self. I  do  not  value  them  a  rush.  But  your  love  I  will 
have." 

"  I  have  told  you  there  is  but  one  way  by  which  that 
may  be  won.  But  indeed,  Captain  Coppinger,  you  have 
made  a  great  mistake  in  thinking  of  me.  I  am  not 
suited  to  you  to  make  you  happy  and  content ;  any  more 
than  you  are  suited  to  me.  Look  out  for  some  girl  more 
fit  to  be  your  mate." 

"  Of  what  sort  ?  Come,  tell  me !  "  said  Coppinger 
scornfully. 

"  A  fine,  well-built  girl,  dark-haired,  dark-eyed,  Avith 
cheeks  like  apricots,  lively  in  mood,  with  nimble  tongue, 
good-natured,  not  bookish,  not  caring  for  brush  or 
piano,  but  who  can  take  a  rough  word  and  return  it ; 
who  will  not  wince  at  an  oath,  and  shrink  away  at  coarse 
words  flung  about  where  she  is.  All  these  things  you 
know  very  well  must  be  encountered  by  your  wife,  in 
your  house.  Did  you  ever  read  '  Hamlet,'  Captain  Cop- 
pinger I " 

He  made  no  answer,  he  was  plucking  at  the  slab-cover 
of  the  tomb  and  grinding  his  heels  into  tlio  sand. 

"  In '  Hamlet,'  we  read  of  a  king  poisoned  by  his  queen, 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  235 

who  dipped  the  juice  of  cursed  hebenon  into  his  ears, 
and  it  curdled  all  his  blood.  It  is  the  same  with  the 
sort  of  language  that  is  found  in  your  house  when  your 
seamen  are  there.  I  cannot  endure  it,  it  curdles  my  heart 
— choose  a  girl  who  is  indifferent." 

"  You  shall  not  be  subjected  to  it,"  said  Coppinger,  "  and 
as  to  the  girl  you  have  sketched — I  care  not  for  her — 
such  as  you  describe  are  to  be  found  thick  as  whortle- 
berries on  a  moor.  Do  you  not  know  that  man  seeks  in 
marriage  not  his  counterpart  but  his  contrast  ?  It  is 
because  you  are  in  all  things  different  from  me  that  I 
love  you." 

"  Then  will  naught  that  I  have  said  make  you  desist  ? " 

"Naught." 

"  I  have  told  you  that  I  take  you  only  so  as  to  be  able 
to  make  a  home  for  Jamie." 

"  Yes." 

"  And  that  I  do  not  love  you  and  hardly  think  I  can 
ever." 

"  Yes." 

"  And  still  you  will  have  me  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  that  by  taking  me  you  wreck  my  life — spoil  my 
happiness." 

He  raised  his  head,  then  dropped  it  again  and  said, 
"Yes." 

She  remained  silent,  also  looking  on  the  ground.  Pres- 
ently she  raised  her  head  and  said:  "I  gave  you  a 
chance,  and  you  have  cast  it  from  you.  I  am  sorry." 

'  A  chance  t    "What  chance  ?  " 

'  The  chance  of  taking  a  first  step  up  the  ladder  in  my 
esteem." 

'  I  do  not  understand  you." 

'  Therefore  I  am  sorry." 

'  What  is  your  meaning  ?  " 

'  Captain  Coppinger,"  said  Judith,  firmly,  looking 
straight  into  his  dark  face  and  flickering  eyes,  "  I  am 
very,  very  sorry.  When  I  told  you  that  I  accepted  your 
offer  only  because  I  could  not  help  myself,  because  I  was 
a  poor,  feeble  orphan,  with  a  great  responsibility  laid  on 
me,  the  charge  of  my  unfortunate  brother ;  that  I  only 
accepted  you  for  his  sake  when  I  told  you  that  I  did  not 
love  you,  that  our  characters,  our  feelings  were  so  differ- 
ent that  it  would  be  misery  to  me  to  become  your  wife; 


236  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

— that  it  would  be  the  ruin  of  my  life,  then — had  you 
been  a  man  of  generous  soul,  you  would  have  said — I  will 
not  force  myself  upon  you,  but  I  will  do  one  thing-  for 
you,  assist  you  in  protecting  Jamie  from  the  evil  that 
menaces  him.  Had  you  said  that  I  would  have  honored 
you,  and  as  I  said  just  now,  where  I  honor,  there  I  may 
love.  But  you  could  not  think  such  a  thought,  no  such 
generous  feeling  stirred  you.  You  held  me  to  my  bond." 

"  I  hold  you  to  your  bond,"  exclaimed  Coppinger,  in 
loud  rage.  "  I  hold  you,  indeed.  Even  though  you  can 
neither  love  nor  honor  me,  you  shall  be  mine.  You 
likened  me  to  a  bird  of  prey  that  must  have  its  prey  or 
die,  to  a  fire — and  that  must  have  its  fuel — to  a  wrecker, 
and  he  must  have  his  wreck,  I  care  not.  I  will  have  you 
as  mine,  whether  you  love  me  or  not." 

"  So  be  it,  then,"  said  Judith,  sadly.  "  You  had  your 
opportunity  and  have  put  it  from  you.  We  understand 
each  other.  The  slave  is  master — and  a  tyrant." 


CHAPTEK  XXXII. 

A  DANGEBOUS  GIFT. 

"  I  do  love  a  proper  muddle,  cruel  bad,  I  do,"  said 
Jump,  and  had  what  she  loved,  for  the  preparations  for 
Judith's  marriage  threw  Mr.  Menaida's  trim  cottage  into 
a  "  proper  muddle."  There  were  the  'cakes  to  be  baked, 
and  for  a  while  the  interior  of  the  house  was  pervaded  by 
that  most  delicious  aroma  of  baking"  bread  superior  to 
frangipani,  jockey  club,  and  wood  violet.  Then  came 
the  dusting,  and  after  that  the  shaking  and  beating  of  the 
rugs  and  sofa  and  chairs^  Then  it  was  discovered  that 
the  ceilings  and  walls  would  be  the  better  for  white  and 
color-wash.  This  entailed  the  turning  out  of  every  thing 
previously  dusted  and  tidied  and  arranged.  Neither  Mr. 
Menaida  nor  Jump  had  any  other  idea  of  getting  things 
into  order  than  throwing  all  into  a  muddle  in  the  hopes 
that  out  of  chaos,  exactness  and  order  might  spring. 

A  dressmaker  had  been  engaged  and  material  pur- 
chased, for  the  fabrication  of  a  trousseau.  This  naturally 
interested  Jamie  vastly,  and  Jump  paid  repeated  visits 
to  the  dressmaker,  whilst  engaged  on  her  work.  On  one 
such  occasion  she  neglected  the  kitchen  and  allowed  some 
jam  to  become  burnt.  On  another  she  so  interested  the 
needlewoman  and  diverted  her  attention  from  her  work, 
whilst  cutting  out  that  the  latter  cut  out  two  right  arms 
to  the  wedding  gown.  This  involved  a  difficulty,  as  it 
was  not  practicable  either  to  turn  the  one  sleeve,  and 
convert  it  into  a  left  arm,  nor  to  remove  Judith's  left 
arm  and  attach  it  to  the  right  side  of  her  body,  and  so 
accommodate  her  to  the  gown.  The  mercer  at  Camel- 
ford  was  communicated  with,  from  whom  the  material 
had  been  procured,  but  he  was  out  of  it,  he  however  was 
in  daily  expectation  of  a  consignment  of  more  of  the 
same  stuff.  A  fortnight  later  he  was  able  to  supply  the 
material,  sufficient  for  a  left  sleeve,  but  unfortunately  of 
a  different  color.  The  gown  had  to  be  laid  aside  till 


238  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

some  one  could  be  found  of  Judith's  size  and  figure  with 
two  right  arms,  and.  also  who  wanted  a  wedding-  dress, 
and  also  would  be  disposed  to  take  this  particular  one 
at  half  the  cost  of  the  material,  or  else  to  let  the  gown 
stand  over  till  after  the  lapse  of  a  century  or  thereabouts, 
when  the  fashion  would  prevail  for  ladies  to  wear  sleeves 
of  a  different  substance  and  color  from  their  bodies  and 
skirts. 

"  'Taint  a  sort  o'  a  courtin'  as  I'd  give  a  thankee  for," 
said  Jump.  "There  was  Camelford  goose  fair,  and 
whether  he  axed  her  to  go  wi'  him  and  pick  a  goose  I 
can't  tell,  but  I  know  her  never  went.  Then  o'  Sundays 
they  don't  walk  one  another  out.  And  he  doesn't  come 
arter  her  to  the  back  garden,  and  she  go  to  him,  and  no 
whisperings  and  kissings.  I've  listened  a  score  o'  times 
a  hoping  and  a  wishing  to  see  and  hear  the  likes,  and 
and  never  once  as  I'm  a  Christian  and  a  female.  There 
were  my  sister  Jane,  when  she  was  going  to  be  married, 
her  got  that  hot  and  blazin'  red  that  I  thought  it  were 
scarletine,  but  it  was  naught  but  excitement.  But  the 
young  mistress,  bless  'ee,  her  gets  whiter  and  colder  every 
day,  and  I'd  say,  if  such  a  thing  were  possible,  that  her'd 
rather  her  never  was  a  going  to  be  married.  But  you  see 
that  aint  in  natur,  leastways  wi'  us  females.  I  tell  'ee 
I  never  seed  him  once  put  his  arm  round  her  waist.  If 
this  be  courtin'  among  gentlefolks,  all  I  say  is  preserve 
and  deliver  me  from  being  a  lady." 

It  was  as  Jump,  in  her  vulgar  way,  put  it.  Judith 
alone  in  the  house  appeared  to  take  no  interest  in  the 
preparations.  It  was  only  after  a  struggle  with  her  aunt 
that  she  had  yielded  to  have  the  wedding  in  November. 
She  had  wished  it  postponed  till  the  spring,  but  Cruel 
Coppinger  and  Aunt  Dionysia  were  each  for  their  several 
ends  desirous  to  have  it  in  the  late  autumn.  Coppinger 
had  the  impatience  of  a  lover;  and  Miss  Trevisa  the 
desire  to  be  free  from  a  menial  position  and  lodged  in 
her  new  house  before  winter  set  in.  She  had  amused 
herself  over  Othello  Cottage  ever  since  Judith  had  yield- 
ed her  consent,  and  her  niece  saw  little  of  her  accord- 
ingly. 

It  suited  Coppinger's  interest  to  have  a  tenant  for  the 
solitary  cottage,  and  that  a  tenant  who  would  excite  no 
suspicions,  as  the  house  was  employed  as  a  store  for  va- 
rious run  goods,  and  it  was  understood  between  him  and 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  239 

Miss  Trevisa,  that  he  was  still  to  employ  the  garret  for 
the  purposes  that  suited  him. 

Had  Othello  Cottage  remained  long-  unoccupied,  it 
was  almost  certain  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  Prevent- 
ive men,  awake  their  suspicions,  and  be  subjected  to  a 
visit.  Its  position  was  convenient,  it  was  on  the  cliff  of 
that  cove  where  was  the  cave  in  which  the  smugglers' 
boats  were  concealed. 

Coppinger  visited  Polzeath  and  saw  Judith  whenever 
he  came  to  Mr.  Menaida's  house,  but  his  wooing  met 
with  no  response.  She  endured  his  attentions,  shrink- 
ing from  the  slightest  approach  to  familiarity,  and 
though  studiously  courteous  was  never  affectionate.  It 
would  take  a  heavy  charge  of  self-conceit  to  have  made 
the  Captain  blind  to  the  fact  that  she  did  not  love  him, 
that  in  truth  she  viewed  her  approaching  marriage  with 
repugnance.  Coppinger  was  a  proud,  but  not  a  conceited 
man,  and  her  coldness  and  aversion  aroused  his  anger, 
for  it  galled  his  pride.  Had  he  been  a  man  of  noble  im- 
pulse, lie  would  have  released  her,  as  she  had  already 
told  him,  but  he  was  too  selfish,  too  bent  on  carrying 
out  his  own  will  to  think  of  abandoning  his  suit. 

Her  lack  of  reciprocation  did  not  abate  his  passion,  it 
aggravated  it.  It  enlisted  his  self-esteem  in  the  cause, 
and  he  would  not  give  her  up,  because  he  had  set  his 
mind  upon  obtaining  her,  and  to  confess  his  defeat 
would  have  been  a  humiliation  insufferable  to  his 
haughty  spirit.  But  it  was  not  merely  that  he  would 
not,  it  was  also  that  he  could  not.  Coppinger  was  a  man 
who  had,  all  his  life  long,  done  what  he  willed,  till  his 
will  had  become  in  him  the  mainspring  of  his  existence, 
and  drove  him  to  execute  his  purposes  in  disregard  of 
reason,  safety,  justice,  and  opposition.  He  would  eat 
out  his  own  furious  heart  in  impotent  rage,  if  his  will 
were  encountered  by  impossibility  of  execution.  And 
he  was  of  a  sanguine  temperament.  Hitherto  every  op- 
position had  been  overthrown  before  him,  therefore  he 
could  not  conceive  that  the  heart  of  a  young  girl,  a  mere 
child,  could  stand  out  against  him  permanently.  For 
a  while  it  might  resist,  but  ultimately  it  must  yield, 
and  then  the  surrender  would  be  absolute,  uncondi- 
tional. 

Every  time  he  came  to  see  her,  he  came  with  hopes, 
almost  with  confidence,  that  the  icy  barrier  would  dis- 


240  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

solve,  but  when  in  her  presence  the  chill  from  it  struck 
him,  numbed  his  heart,  silenced  his  tongue,  deadened 
his  thoughts.  Yet  no  sooner  was  he  gone  from  the 
house,  than  his  pulses  leaped,  his  brain  whirled,  and  he 
was  consumed  with  mortified  pride  and  disappointed 
love.  He  could  not  be  rough,  passionate  or  imperious 
with  her.  A  something  he  could  not  understand,  cer- 
tainly not  define,  streamed  from  her  that  kept  him  at  a 
distance  and  quelled  his  insolence.  It  was  to  him  at 
moments  as  if  he  hated  her ;  but  this  hate  was  but  the 
splutter  of  frustrated  love.  He  recalled  the  words  she 
had  spoken  to  him,  and  the  terms  she  had  employed  in 
speaking  of  the  relation  in  which  they  stood  to  each 
other,  the  only  relations  to  her  conceivable  in  which 
they  could  stand  to  each  other,  and  each  such  word  was  a 
spark  of  fire,  a  drop  of  fiaming  phosphorus  on  his  heart, 
torturing  it  with  pain,  and  unquenchable.  A  word  once 
spoken  can  never  be  recalled,  and  these  words  had  been 
thrown  red  hot  at  him,  had  sunk  in  and  continued  to 
consume  where  they  had  fallen.  He  was  but  a  rapacious 
bird  and  she  the  prey,  he  the  fire  and  she  the  fuel,  he  the 
wrecker  and  she  the  wreck.  There  could  be  no  recip- 
rocity between  them,  the  bird  in  the  talons  of  the  hawk, 
rent  by  his  beak  could  do  no  other  than  shiver  and 
shriek  and  struggle  to  be  free.  The  fuel  could  but  ex- 
pect to  be  consumed  to  ashes  in  the  fiames;  and  the 
wrecked  must  submit  to  the  wrecker.  He  brooded  over 
these  similes,  he  chafed  under  the  conviction  that  there 
was  truth  in  them,  he  fought  against  the  idea  that  a  re- 
turn of  his  love  was  impossible — and  then  his  passion 
raged  and  roared  up  in  a  fury  that  was  no  other  than 
hatred  of  the  woman  who  could  not  be  his  in  heart. 
Then,  in  another  moment,  he  cooled  down,  and  trusted 
that  what  he  dreaded  would  not  be.  He  saw  before  him 
the  child,  white  as  a  lily,  with  hair  as  the  anthers  of  the 
lily — so  small,  so  fragile,  so  weak ;  and  he  laughed  to 
think  that  one  such,  with  no  experience  of  life,  one  who 
had  never  tasted  love,  could  prove  insensible  to  his  de- 
vouring passion.  The  white  asbestos  in  the  name  glows, 
and  never  loses  its  delicacy  and  its  whiteness. 

And  Judith  was,  as  Jump  observed,  becoming  paler 
and  more  silent  as  her  marriage  drew  on.  The  repug- 
nance with  which  she  had  viewed  it  instead  of  abating 
intensified  with  every  day.  She  woke  in  the  night  with 


IN  THE  ROAll  OF  THE  SEA. 

a  start  of  horror,  and  a  cold  sweat  poured  from  her.  She 
clasped  her  hands  over  her  eyes  and  buried  her  face  in 
her  pillow  and  trembled,  so  that  the  bed  rattled.  She 
lost  all  appetite.  Her  throat  was  contracted  when  she 
touched  food.  She  found  it  impossible  to  turn  her 
mind  to  the  preparations  that  were  being  made  for  her 
wedding-,  she  suffered  her  aunt  to  order  for  her  what  she 
liked,  she  was  indifferent  when  told  of  the  blunder  made 
by  the  dressmaker  in  her  wedding-gown.  She  could  not 
speak  at  meals.  When  Mr.  Menaida  began  to  talk,  she 
seemed  to  listen,  but  her  mind  was  elsewhere.  She  re- 
sumed lessons  with  Jamie,  but  was  too  abstracted  to  be 
able  to  teach  effectually.  A  restlessness  took  hold  of 
her  and  impelled  her  to  be  out  of  doors  and  alone.  Any 
society  was  painful  to  her,  she  could  endure  only  to  be 
alone ;  and  when  alone,  she  did  nothing  save  pluck  at 
her  dress,  or  rub  her  fingers  one  over  the  other — the 
tricks  and  convulsive  movements  of  one  on  the  point  of 
death. 

But  she  did  not  yield  to  her  aversion  without  an  ef- 
fort to  accustom  herself  to  the  inevitable.  She  rehearsed 
to  herself  the  good  traits  she  had  observed  in  Coppin- 
ger,  his  kindness,  his  forbearance  toward  herself,  she 
took  cognizance  of  his  efforts  to  win  her  regard,  to  af- 
ford her  pleasure,  his  avoidance  of  everything  that  he 
thought  might  displease  her.  And  when  she  knew  he 
was  coming  to  visit  her,  she  strove  with  herself ;  and 
formed  the  resolution  to  break  down  the  coldnesss,  and 
to  show  him  some  of  that  semblance  of  affection  which 
he  might  justly  expect.  But  it  was  in  vain.  No  sooner 
did  she  hear  his  step,  or  the  first  words  he  uttered,  no 
sooner  did  she  see  him,  than  she  turned  to  stone,  and 
the  power  to  even  feign  an  affection  she  did  not  possess 
left  her.  And  when  Coppinger  had  departed,  there  was 
stamped  red  hot  on  her  brain  the  conviction  that  she 
could  not  possibly  endure  life  with  him. 

She  prayed  long  and  often,  sometimes  by  her  father's 
grave,  always  in  bed  when  lying  wakeful,  tossing  from 
side  to  side  in  anguish  of  mind ;  often,  very  often  when 
on  the  cliffs  looking  out  to  sea,  to  the  dark,  leaden,  sul- 
len sea,  that  had  lost  all  the  laughter  and  color  of  sum- 
mer. But  prayer  afforded  her  no  consolation.  The 
thought  of  marriage  to  such  a  man,  whom  she  could 
not  respect,  whose  whole  nature  was  inferior  to  her  own, 


242  IN  THE  ROAM  OF  THE  SEA. 

was  a  thought  of  horror.  She  could  have  nerved  herself 
to  death  by  the  most  excruciating-  of  torments,  but  for 
this,  not  all  the  grace  of  heaven  could,  fortify  her. 

To  be  his  mate,  to  be  capable  of  loving  him,  she  must 
descend  to  his  level,  and  that  she  neither  could  nor  would 
do.  His  prey,  his  fuel,  his  wreck — that  she  must  become, 
but  she  could  be  nothing  else — nothing  else.  As  the  day 
of  her  marriage  approached  her  nervous  trepidation  be- 
came so  acute  that  she  could  hardly  endure  the  least 
noise.  A  strange  footfall  startled  her  and  threw  her  into 
a  paroxysm  of  trembling.  The  sudden  opening  of  a  door 
made  her  heart  stand  still. 

When  her  father  had  died,  poignant  though  her  sor- 
row had  been,  she  had  enjoyed  the  full  powers  of  her 
mind.  She  had  thought  about  the  necessary  prepara- 
tions for  the  funeral,  she  had  given  orders  to  the  servants, 
she  had  talked  over  the  dear  father  to  Jamie,  she  had  wept 
his  loss  till  her  eyes  were  red.  Not  so  now ;  she  could  not 
turn  her  thoughts  from  the  all-absorbing  terror;  she 
could  not  endure  an  allusion  to  it  from  anyone,  least  of 
all  to  speak  of  it  to  her  brother,  and  the  power  to  weep 
was  taken  from  her.  Her  eyes  were  dry  ;  they  burnt,  but 
were  unfilled  by  tears. 

When  her  father  was  dead  she  could  look  forward, 
think  of  him  in  paradise,  and  hope  to  rejoin  him  after 
having  trustily  executed  the  charge  imposed  on  her  by 
him.  But  now  she  could  not  look  ahead.  A  shadow  of 
horror  lay  before  her,  an  impenetrable  curtain.  Her 
father  was  covering  his  face,  was  sunk  in  grief  in  his 
celestial  abode ;  he  could  not  help  her.  She  could  not 
go  to  him  with  the  same  open  brow  and  childish  smile 
as  before.  She  must  creep  to  his  feet,  and  lay  her  head 
there,  sullied  by  association  with  one  against  whom  he 
had  warned  her,  one  whom  he  had  regarded  as  the  man 
that  had  marred  his  sacred  utility,  one  who  stood  far  be- 
low the  stage  of  virtue  and  culture  that  belonged  to  his 
family  and  on  which  he  had  firmly  planted  his  child. 
What  was  in  her  heart  Judith  could  pour  out  before 
none ;  certainly  not  before  Aunt  Dionysia,  devoid  of  a 
particle  of  sympathy  with  her  niece.  Nor  could  she 
speak  her  trouble  to  Uncle  Zachie,  a  man  void  of  re- 
sources, kind,  able  for  a  minute  or  two  to  sympathize, 
but  never  to  go  deeply  into  any  trouble  and  understand 
more  of  a  wound  than  the  fester  on  the  surface.  Besides, 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  243 

of  what  avail  to  communicate  the  anguish  of  her  heart 
to  anyone,  when  nothing-  could  be  clone  to  alter  the  cir- 
cumstances. She  could  not  now  draw  back.  Indeed  it 
never  occurred  to  her  to  be  possible  to  go  back  from  her 
undertaking.  To  save  Jamie  from  an  idiot  asylum  she 
had  passed  her  word  to  give  her  hand  at  the  altar  to 
Cruel  Coppinger,  and  her  word  was  sacred.  Aunt  Dio- 
nysia  trusted  her  word.  Coppinger  held  to  it,  knowing 
that  she  gave  it  on  compulsion  and  reluctantly,  yet  he 
showed  his  perfect  confidence  in  its  security. 

"  My  dear  Judith,"  said  Mr.  Menaida,  "  I  am  so  sorry 
about  losing  you,  and  what  is  more,  losing  Jamie,  for  I 
know  very  well  that  when  he  is  at  the  Glaze  he  will  find 
plenty  to  amuse  him  without  coming  to  see  me,  or  any- 
how, coming  to  work  with  me." 

"  I  hope  not,  dear  uncle." 

"  Yes,  I  lose  a  promising  pupil."  Then  turning  to  the 
boy,  he  said:  "  Jamie,  I  hope  you  will  not  give  up  stuff- 
ing birds,  or,  if  you  have  not  the  patience  to  do  that, 
that  you  will  secure  the  skins  and  prepare  them  for  me." 

"  Yes,  I  will,"  said  Jamie. 

"Yes,  yes,  my  dear  boy/'  said  Menaida,  "but  don't 
you  fancy  I  am  going  to  trust  you  with  arsenic  for  pre- 
paring the  skins.  I  shall  give  that  to  your  sister  and 
she  will  keep  the  supply,  eh,  will  you  not,  Judith  ? " 

"  Yes.     I  will  take  charge  of  it." 

"  And  let  him  have  it  as  needed ;  never  more  than  is 
needed." 

"  Why  not  ? "  asked  Jamie. 

"  Because  it  is  a  dangerous  thing  to  have  lying  about." 
Menaida  ran  into  the  workshop,  and  came  back  with  a 
small  tin  box  of  the  poison.  "Look  here  !  here  is  a  little 
bone  spoon.  Don't  get  the  powder  over  your  fingers. 
Why,  a  spoonful  would  make  a  man  very  ill,  and  two 
would  kill  him.  So,  Judith,  I  trust  this  to  you.  When 
Jamie  has  a  skin  to  prepare  he  will  go  to  you,  and  you 
will  let  him  have  only  so  much  as  he  requires." 

"Yes,  uncle." 

She  took  the  little  tin  of  arsenic  and  put  it  in  her  work- 
box,  under  the  tray  that  contained  reels  and  needles. 


CHAPTEK  XXXIII. 

HALF  A  MARRIAGE. 

One  request  Judith  had  made,  relative  to  her  mar- 
riage, and  one  only,  after  she  had  given  way  about  the 
time  when  it  was  to  take  place,  and  this  request  con- 
cerned the  place.  She  desired  to  be  married,  not  in  the 
parish  church  of  S.  Minver,  but  in  that  of  S.  Enodoc,  in 
the  yard  of  which  lay  her  father  and  mother,  and  in 
which  her  father  had  occasionally  ministered. 

It  was  true  that  no  great  display  could  be  made  in  a 
building  half-filled  with  sand,  but  neither  Judith  nor 
Coppinger,  nor  Aunt  Dionysia  desired  display,  and 
Jump,  the  sole  person  who  wished  that  the  wedding 
should  be  in  full  gala,  was  not  consulted  in  the  matter. 

November  scowled  over  sea  and  land,  perverting  the 
former  into  lead  and  blighting  the  latter  to  a  dingy 
brown. 

The  wedding-day  was  sad.  Mist  enveloped  the  coast, 
wreathed  the  cliffs,  drifted  like  smoke  over  the  glebe,  and 
lay  upon  the  ocean,  dense  and  motionless,  like  a  mass  of 
cotton-wool.  Not  a  smile  of  sun,  not  a  glimmer  of  sky, 
not  a  trace  of  outline  in  the  haze  overhead.  The  air 
was  full  of  minute  particles  of  moisture  flying  aimlessly, 
lost  to  all  sense  of  gravity,  in  every  direction.  The  mist 
had  a  fringe  but  no  seams,  and  looked  as  if  it  were  as 
unrendable  as  felt.  It  trailed  over  the  soil,  here  lifting 
a  ragged  flock  or  tag  of  fog  a  few  feet  above  the  earth, 
there  dropping  it  again  and  smearing  water  over  all  it 
touched.  Vapor  condensed  on  every  twig  and  leaf,  but- 
only  leisurely,  and  slowly  dripped  from  the  ends  of 
thorns  and  leaves ;  but  the  weight  of  the  Avater  on  some 
of  the  frosted  and  sickly  foliage  brought  the  leaves 
down  with  it.  Every  stone  in  every  wall  was  lined  with 
trickles  of  water  like  snail  crawls.  The  vapor  pene- 
trated within  doors,  and  made  all  articles  damp,  of  what- 
ever sort  they  were.  Fires  were  reluctant  to  kindle, 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  245 

chimneys  smoked.  The  grates  and  irons  broke  out  into 
eruptions  of  rust,  mildew  appeared  on  walls,  leaks  in 
roofs.  The  slate  floors  became  dark  and  moist.  Forks 
and  spoons  adhered  to  the  hands  of  those  who  touched 
them,  and  on  the  keys  of  Mr.  Menaida's  piano  drops 
formed. 

What  smoke  did  escape  from  a  chimney  trailed  down 
the  roof.  Decomposed  leaves  exhaled  the  scent  of  de- 
cay. From  every  stack-yard  came  a  musty  odor  of  wet 
straw  and  hay.  Stable  yards  emitted  their  most  fetid 
exudations  that  oozed  through  the  gates  and  stained  the 
roads.  The  cabbages  in  the  kail-yards  touched  by  frost 
announced  that  they  were  in  decomposition,  and  the  tur- 
nips that  they  were  in  rampant  degeneration  and  rotten- 
ness. The  very  seaweed  washed  ashore  impregnated 
the  mist  with  a  flavor  of  degeneration. 

The  new  rector,  the  Reverend  Desiderius  Mules  had 
been  in  residence  at  St.  Enodoc  for  three  months.  He 
had  received  but  a  hundred  and  twenty-seven  pounds  four 
and  ninepence  farthing  for  dilapidations,  and  was  angry, 
declared  himself  cheated,  and  vowed  he  would  never  em- 
ploy the  agent  Cargreen  any  more.  And  a  hundred  and 
twenty-seven  pounds  four  and  ninepence  farthing  went 
a  very  little  way  in  repairing  and  altering  the  rectory  to 
make  it  habitable  to  the  liking  of  the  Eeverend  Deside- 
rius. The  Reverend  Peter  Trevisa  and  his  predecessors 
had  been  West  Country  men,  and  as  such  loved  the  sun, 
and  chose  to  have  the  best  rooms  of  the  house  with  a 
southern  aspect.  But  the  Reverend  Desiderius  Mules 
had  been  reared  in  Barbadoes,  and  hated  the  sun,  and 
elected  to  have  the  best  rooms  of  the  house  to  look  north. 
This  entailed  great  alterations.  The  kitchen  had  to  be 
converted  into  parlor,  and  the  parlor  into  kitchen,  the 
dining-room  into  scullery,  and  the  scullery  into  study, 
and  the  library  enlarged  to  serve  as  dining-room.  All 
the  down-stairs  windows  had  to  be  altered.  Mr.  Desi- 
derius Mules  liked  to  have  French  windows  opening  to 
the  ground. 

In  the  same  manner  great  transformations  were  made 
in  the  garden.  Where  Mr.  Peter  Trevisa  had  built  up 
and  planted  a  hedge  there  Mr.  Desiderius  Mules 
opened  a  gate,  and  where  the  late  rector  had  laid  down 
a  drive  there  the  new  rector  made  garden  beds.  In  the 
same  manner  shrubberies  were  converted  into  lawns,  and 


246  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

lawns  into  shrubberies.  The  pump  was  now  of  no  ser- 
vice outside  the  drawing-room  window ;  it  had  to  be  re- 
moved to  the  other  side  of  the  house,  and  to  serve  the 
pump  with  water  a  new  well  had  to  be  *  dug-,  and  the  old 
well  that  had  furnished  limpid  and  wholesome  water  was 
filled  up.  The  site  of  the  conservatory  was  considered 
the  proper  one  for  the  well,  and  this  entailed  the  de- 
struction of  the  conservatory.  Kemoval  was  intended, 
with  a  new  aspect  to  the  north,  as  a  frigidarium,  but 
when  touched  it  fell  to  pieces,  and  in  so  doing'  furnished 
Mr.  Desiderius  Mules  with  much  comment  on  the  im- 
position to  which  he  had  been  subjected,  for  he  had 
taken  this  conservatory  at  a  valuation,  and  that  valua- 
tion had  been  for  three  pounds  seven  and  fourpence 
ha'penny,  whereas  its  real  value  was,  so  he  declared, 
three  pounds  seven  and  fourpence  without  the  ha'penny 
at  the  end  or  the  three  pounds  before. 

"When  the  Keverend  Desiderius  Mules  heard  that 
Captain  Coppinger  and  Judith  Trevisa  were  to  be  mar- 
ried in  his  church,  "  By  Jove,"  said  he,  "  they  shall  pay 
me  double  fees  as  extra  parochial.  I  shall  get  that  out 
of  them  at  all  events.  I  have  been  choused  sufficiently." 

A  post-chaise  from  Wadebridge  conveyed  Judith,  Miss 
Trevisa,  Uncle  Zachie,  and  Jamie  from  Polzeath. 

The  bride  was  restless.  At  one  moment  she  leaned 
back,  then  forward ;  her  eyes  turned  resolutely  through 
the  window  at  the  fog.  Her  hands  plucked  at  her  veil 
or  at  her  gloves ;  she  spoke  not  a  word  throughput  the 
drive.  Aunt  Dionysia  was  also  silent.  Opposite  her 
sat  Mr.  Menaida  in  blue  coat  with  brass  buttons,  white 
waistcoat  outside  a  colored  one,  and  white  trousers 
tightly  strapped.  Though  inclined  to  talk,  he  was  un- 
able to  resist  the  depressing  influence  of  his  vis-a-vis, 
Miss  Trevisa,  who  sat  scowling  at  him  with  her  thin  lips 
closed.  Jamie  was  excited,  but  as  no  one  answered  him 
when  he  spoke  he  also  lapsed  into  silence. 

When  the  churchyard  gate  of  St.  Enodoc  was  reached, 
Mr.  Menaida  jumped  out  of  the  chaise  with  a  sigh  of  re- 
lief, and  muttered  to  himself  that,  had  he  known  what 
to  expect,  he  would  have  brought  his  pocket-flask  with 
him,  and  have  had  a  nip  of  cognac  on  the  way. 

A  good  number  of  sight-seers  had  assembled  from 
Polzeath  and  St.  Enodoc,  and  stood  in  the  churchyard, 
magnified  by  the  mist  to  gigantic  size.  Over  the  graves 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  247 

of  drowned  sailors  were  planted  the  figure-heads  of 
wrecked  vessels,  and  these  in  the  mist  might  haye  been 
taken  as  the  dead  risen  and  mingling  with  the  living  to 
view  this  dreary  marriage. 

The  bride  herself  looked  ghostlike,  or  as  a  waft  of  the 
fog,  but  little  condensed,  blown  through  the  graveyard 
toward  the  gap  in  the  church  wall,  and  blown  through 
that  also  within. 

That  gap  was  usually  blocked  with  planks  from  a 
wreck,  supported  by  beams  ;  when  the  church  was  to  be 
put  in  requisition,  then  the  beams  were  knocked  away, 
whereupon  down  clattered  the  boards  and  they  were 
tossed  aside.  It  had  been  so  done  on  this  occasion,  and 
the  fragments  were  heaped  untidily  among  the  graves 
under  the  church  wall.  The  clerk-sexton  had,  indeed, 
considered  that  morning,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
whether  it  would  be  worth  his  while,  assisted  by  the 
five  bell-ringers,  to  take  this  accumulation  or  wreckage 
and  pile  it  together  out  of  sight,  but  he  had  thought 
that,  owing  to  the  fog,  a  veil  would  be  drawn  over  the 
disorder,  and  he  might  be  saved  this  extra  trouble. 

Within  the  sacred  building,  over  his  boots  in  sand, 
stamped,  and  frowned,  and  paced,  and  growled  the  Rev- 
erend Desiderius  Mules,  in  surplice,  hood,  and  stole,  very 
ill  at  ease  and  out  of  humor  because  the  wedding-party 
arrived  unpunctually,  and  he  feared  he  might  catch  cold 
from  the  wind  and  fog  that  drifted  in  through  the  hole 
in  the  wall  serving  as  door. 

The  sand  within  was  level  with  the  sills  of  the  win- 
dows ;  it  cut  the  tables  of  commandments  in  half ;  had 
blotted  away  the  majority  of  inhibitions  against  mar- 
riage within  blood  relationship  and  marriage  kinship. 
The  altar-rails  were  below  the  surface.  The  altar-table 
had  been  fished  up  and  set  against  the  east  wall,  not  on 
this  day  for  the  marriage,  but  at  some  previous  occasion. 
Then  the  sexton  had  placed  two  pieces  of  slate  under 
the  feet  on  one  side,  and  not  having  found  handy  any 
other  pieces,  had  thought  that  perhaps  it  did  not 
matter.  Consequently  the  two  legs  one  side  had 
sunk  in  the  sand,  and  the  altar-table  formed  an  incline. 

A  vast  number  of  bats  occupied  the  church,  and  by 
day  hung  like  little  moleskin  purses  from  the  roof. 
Complaints  had  been  made  of  the  disagreeableness  of 
having  these  creatures  suspended  immediately  over  the 


248  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

head  of  the  efficient,  accordingly  the  sexton  had  knocked 
away  such  as  were  suspended  immediately  above  the 
alfcar  and  step — a  place  where  the  step  was,  beneath  the 
sand  ;  but  he  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  disturb  those 
in  other  parts  of  the  church.  If  they  inconvenienced 
others,  it  was  the  penalty  of  curiosity,  coming"  to  see  a 
wedding-  there.  Toward  the  west  end  of  the  church  some 
wooden  pewtops  stood  above  the  sand,  and  stuck  into  a 
gimlet-hole  in  the  top  rail  of  one  was  a  piece  of  holly, 
dry  and  brown  as  a  chip.  Tt  had  been  put  there  as  a 
I  Christmas  decoration  the  last  year  that  the  church  was 
used  for  divine  worship,  at  the  feast  of  Noel ;  ivlien  that 
was,  only  the  oldest  men  could  remember.  The  sexton 
had  looked  at  it  several  times  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets  and  considered  whether  it  were  worth  while  pull- 
ing his  hands  out  and  removing  the  withered  fragment, 
and  carrying  it  outside  the  church,  but  had  arrived  at 
the  conclusion  that  it  injured  no  one,  and  might  there- 
fore just  as  well  remain. 

There  were  fragments  of  stained  glass  in  the  windows, 
in  the  upper  light  of  the  perpendicular  windows  saints 
and  angels  in  white  and  gold  on  ruby  and  blue  grounds. 
In  one  window  a  fragment  of  a  Christ  on  the  cross.  But 
all  were  much  obscured  by  cobwebs.  The  cobwebs,  after 
having  entangled  many  flies,  caught  and  retained  many 
particles  of  sand,  became  impervious  to  light  and  ob- 
scured the  figures  in  the  painted  glass.  The  sexton  had 
looked  at  these  cobwebs  occasionally  and  mused  whether 
it  would  be  worth  his  while  to  sweep  them  down,  but  as 
he  knew  that  the  church  was  rarely  used  for  divine  of- 
fices, and  never  for  regular  divine  worship,  he  deemed 
that  there  was  no  crying  necessity  for  their  destruction. 
Life  was  short,  and  time  might  be  better  employed — to 
whit  in  talking  to  a  neighbor  in  smoking  a  pipe,  in 
drinking  a  pint  of  ale,  in  larruping  his  wife,  in  reading 
the  paper.  Consequently  the  cobwebs  remained. 

Had  Mr.  Desiderius  Mules  been  possessed  of  anti- 
quarian tastes,  he  might  have  occupied  the  time  he  was 
kept  waiting  in  studying  the  bosses  of  carved  oak  that 
adorned  the  wagon-roof  of  the  church,  which  were  in 
some  cases  quaint,  in  the  majority  beautiful,  and  no  two 
the  same.  And  he  might  have  puzzled  out  the  meaning 
of  three  rabbits  with  only  three  ears  between  them  form- 
ing1 a  triangle,  or  three  heads  united  in  one  neck,  a  king 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  249 

a  queen,  a  bishop  and  a  monk,  or  of  a  sow  suckling  a 
dozen  little  pig's. 

But  Mr.  Desiderius  Mules  had  no  artistic  or  archaeo- 
logical faculty  developed  in  him.  His  one  object  on 
the  present  occasion  was  to  keep  draught  and  damp  from 
the  crown  of  his  head,  where  the  hair  was  so  scanty  as 
hardly  to  exist  at  all.  He  did  not  like  to  assume  his  hat 
in  the  consecrated  building,  so  he  stamped  about  in  the 
sand  holding  a  red  bandanna  handkerchief  on  the  top  of 
his  head,  and  grumbling  at  the  time  he  was  kept  wait- 
ing, at  the  Cornish  climate,  at  the  way  in  which  he  had 
been  "  choused "  in  the  matter  of  dilapidations  for  the 
chancel  of  the  church,  at  the  unintelligible  dialect  of  the 
people,  and  at  a  good  many,  other  causes  of  irritation, 
notably  at  a  bat  which  had  not  reverenced  his  bald  pate, 
when  he  ventured  beyond  the  range  of  the  sexton's 
sweeping. 

Presently  the  clerk,  who  was  outside,  thrust  in  his 
head  through  the  gap  in  the  wall,  and  in  a  stage  whis- 
per announced,  "  They's  a-coming." 

The  Keverend  Mules  growled,  "There  ought  to  be  a 
right  to  charge  extra  when  the  parson  is  kept  waiting — 
sixpence  a  minute,  not  a  penny  less.  But  we  are  choused 
in  this  confounded  corner  of  the  world  in  every  way. 
Ha !  there  is  a  mildew-spot  on  my  stole — all  come  of 
this  villainous  damp." 

In  the  tower  stood  five  men,  ready  to  pull  the  ropes 
and  sound  a  merry  peal  when  the  service  was  over,  and 
earn  a  guinea.  They  had  a  firkin  of  ale  in  a  corner, 
with  which  to  moisten  their  inner  clay  between  each 
round.  Now  that  they  heard  that  the  wedding  party 
had  arrived  they  spat  on  their  hands  and  heaved  their 
legs  out  of  the  sand. 

Through  the  aperture  in  the  wall  entered  the  bridal 
party,  a  cloud  of  fog  blowing  in  with  them  and  envelop- 
ing them.  They  stepped  laboriously  through  the  fine 
sand,  at  this  place  less  firm  than  elsewhere,  having  been 
dug  into  daily  by  the  late  rector  in  his  futile  efforts  to 
clear  the  church. 

Mr.  Mules  cast  a  suspicious  look  into  the  rafters  above 
him  to  see  that  no  profane  bat  was  there,  and  opened  his 
book. 

Mr.  Menaida  was  to  act  as  father  to  the  bride,  and 
there  was  no  other  bride's-maid  than  Miss  Trevisa.  As 


250  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

they  waded  toward  the  alter,  Judith's  strength  failed, 
and  she  stood  still.  Then  Uncle  Zachie  put  his  arm 
round  her  and  half  carried  her  over  the  sand  toward  the 
place  where  she  must  stand  to  give  herself  away.  She 
turned  her  head  and  thanked  him  with  her  eyes,  she 
could  not  speak.  So  deathly  was  her  whiteness,  so  de- 
ficient in  life  did  she  seem,  that  Miss  Trevisa  looked  at 
her  with  some  anxiety,  and  a  little  doubt  whether  she 
would  be  able  to  go  through  the  service. 

When  Judith  reached  her  place,  her  eyes  rested  on  the 
sand.  She  did  not  look  to  her  left  side,  she  could  hear 
no  steps,  for  the  sand  muffled  all  sound  of  feet,  but  she 
knew  by  the  cold  shudder  that  thrilled  through  her,  that 
Captain  Coppinger  was  at  her  side. 

"  Dearly  beloved,  we  are  gathered  together  here — now 
then  order,  if  you  please,  and  quiet,  we  are  twenty -five 
minutes  after  time,"  said  Mr.  Desiderius  Mules. 

The  first  few  words,  seven  in  all  were  addressed  to  the 
wedding  party,  the  rest  to  a  number  of  men  and  women 
and  children  who  were  stumbling  and  plunging  into 
the  church  through  the  improvised  door,  thrusting  each 
other  forward,  with  a  "  get  along,"  and  "  out  of  the  road," 
all  eager  to  secure  a  good  sight  of  the  ceremony,  and 
none  able  to  hurry  to  a  suitable  place  because  of  the  sand 
that  impeded  every  step. 

"  Now  then — I  can't  stay  here  all  day !  " 

Mr.  Mules  sniffed  and  applied  the  bandanna  to  his 
nose,  as  an  indication  that  he  was  chilled,  and  that  this 
rheum  would  be  on  the  heads  of  the  congregation,  were 
he  made  ill  by  this  delay. 

"  Dearly  beloved,  we  are  gathered,"  he  began  again, 
and  he  was  now  able  to  proceed. 

"  Cruel,"  said  he  in  loud  and  emphatic  tones,  "  wilt 
tliou  have  this  woman  to  thy  wedded  wife,  to  live  to- 
gether after  God's  ordinance  in  the  holy  estate  of  matri- 
mony ?  Wilt  thou  love  her,  comfort  her,  honor,  and  keep 
her  in  sickness  and  in  health ;  and,  forsaking  all  other, 
keep  thee  only  unto  her  so  long  as  ye  both  shall  live  ?  " 

The  response  of  Coppinger  went  through  the  heart  of 
Judith  like  a  knife.  Then  the  rector  addressed  her.  For 
answer  she  looked  up  at  him  and  moved  her  lips.  He 
took  her  hand  and  placed  it  in  that  of  Coppinger.  It  was 
cold  as  ice  and  quivering  like  an  aspen  leaf.  As  Captain 
Coppinger  held  it,  it  seemed  to  drag  and  become  heavy 


J2V  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  251 

in  liis  hand,  whilst  he  pronounced  the  words  after  the 
rector,  making  oath  to  take  Judith  as  his  own.  Then 
the  same  words  were  recited  to  her,  for  her  to  repeat  in 
order  after  the  priest.  She  began,  she  moved  her  lips, 
looked  him  pleadingly  in  the  face,  her  head  swam,  the 
fog  filled  the  whole  church  and  settled  between  her  and 
the  rector.  She  felt  nothing  save  the  grip  of  Coppinger's 
hand,  and  sank  unconscious  to  the  ground. 

"Go  forward,"  said  Cruel.  Mr.  Menaida  and  Aunt 
Dionysia  caught  Judith  and  held  her  up.  She  could 
neither  speak  nor  stir.  Her  lips  were  unclosed,  she 
seemed  to  be  gasping  for  breath  like  one  drowning. 

"  Go  on,"  persisted  Cruel,  and  holding  her  left  hand 
he  thrust  the  ring  on  her  fourth  finger,  repeating  the 
words  of  the  formula. 

"  I  cannot  proceed,"  said  the  Keverend  Desiderius. 

"  Then  you  will  have  to  come  again  to-morrow." 

"  She  is  unconscious,"  objected  the  rector. 

"It  is  momentary  only,"  said  Aunt  Dionysia;  "be 
quick  and  finish." 

Mr.  Mules  hesitated  a  moment.  He  had  no  wish  to  re- 
turn in  like  weather  on  another  day ;  no  wish  again  to  be 
kept  waiting  five  and  twenty  minutes.  He  rushed  at  the 
remainder  of  the  office  and  concluded  it  at  a  hand  gallop. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  "  the  registers  are  at  the  rectory. 
Come  there." 

Coppinger  looked  at  Judith. 

''Not  to-day.  It  is  not  possible.  She  is  ill— faint.  To- 
morrow. Neither  she  nor  I  nor  the  witnesses  will  run 
away.  We  will  come  to  you  to-morrow." 

Uncle  Zachie  offered  to  assist  Judith  from  the  church. 

"  No,"  said  Cruel,  peremptorily,  "  she  is  mine  now." 

She  was  able  with  assistance  to  walk,  she  seemed  to 
recover  for  a  moment  in  the  air  outside,  but  again  lapsed 
into  f aintness  on  being  placed  in  the  chaise. 

"  To  Pentyre  Glaze,"  ordered  Coppinger ;  "  our  home." 


CHAPTEK  XXXIY. 

A  BKEAKFAST. 

"  She  has  been  over-exerted,  over- excited,"  said  Miss 
Trevisa.  "  Leave  her  to  recover ;  in  a  few  days  she  will 
be  herself  again.  Remember,  her  father  died  of  heart 
complaint,  and  though  Judith  resembles  her  mother 
rather  than  a  Trevisa,  she  may  have  inherited  from  my 
brother  just  that  one  thing  she  had  better  have  let  him 
carry  to  his  grave  with  him." 

So  Judith  was  given  the  little  room  that  adjoined  her 
aunt's,  and  Miss  Trevisa  postponed  for  a  week  her  mi- 
gration to  Othello  Cottage. 

Aunt  Dionysia  was  uneasy  about  her  niece  ;  perhaps 
her  conscience  did  suffer  from  some  qualms  when  she 
saw  how  Judith  shrank  from  the  union  she  had  driven 
her  into  for  her  own  selfish  convenience.  She  treated 
her  in  the  wisest  manner,  now  she  had  brought  her  to 
the  Glaze,  for  she  placed  her  in  her  old  room  next  her 
own,  and  left  her  there  to  herself.  Judith  could  hear 
her  aunt  walking  about  and  muttering  in  the  adjoining 
chamber,  and  was  content  to  be  left  alone  to  recover  her 
composure  and  strength. 

Uncle  Zachie  and  Jump  were,  however,  in  sore  dis- 
tress ;  they  had  made  the  trim  cottage  ready,  had  pre- 
pared a  wedding  breakfast,  engaged  a  helping  hand  or 
two,  and  no  one  had  come  to  partake.  Nor  was  Mr. 
Desiderius  Mules  in  a  cheerful  mood.  He  had  been  in- 
vited to  the  breakfast,  and  was  hungry  and  cold.  He 
had  to  wait  while  Mr.  Menaida  ran  up  to  Pentyre  to 
know  whether  any  one  was  going  to  honor  his  board. 
While  he  was  away  the  rector  stamped  about  the  parlor, 
growling  that  he  believed  he  was  about  to  be  "  choused 
out  of  his  breakfast.  There  was  really  no  knowing  what 
these  people  in  this  out-of-the-world  corner  might  do." 
Then  he  pulled  off  his  boots  and  shook  the  sand  out, 
rang  for  Jump,  and  asked  at  what  hour  precisely  the 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  253 

breakfast  was  to  be  eaten,  and  whether  it  was  put  on 
table  to  be  looked  at  only. 

From  Pentyre  Glaze  Mr.  Menaida  was  not  greatly 
successful  in  obtaining  guests.  He  found  some  wild- 
looking1  men  there  in  converse  with  Coppinger,  men 
whom  he  knew  by  rumor  to  belong-  to  a  class  that  had 
no  ostensible  profession  and  means  of  living. 

Mr.  Menaida  had  ordered  in  clotted  cream,  which  would 
not  keep  sweet  many  days.  It  o*ught  to  be  eaten  at  once. 
He  wanted  to  know  whether  Coppinger,  the  bride,  Miss 
Trevisa,  anyone  was  coming  to  his  house  to  consume  the 
clotted  cream.  As  Jamie  was  drifting  about  purpose- 
less, and  he  alone  seemed  disposed  to  accompany  Uncle 
Zachie,  the  old  gentleman  carried  him  off. 

"  I  s'pose  I  can't  on  the  spur  of  the  moment  go  in  and 
ask  over  St.  Minver  parson !  "  asked  Menaida,  dubiously, 
of  the  St.  Enodoc  parson.  "You  see  I  daresay  he's  hurt 
not  to  have  had  the  coupling  of  'em  himself." 

"  Most  certainly  not,"  said  Mr.  Mules  ;  "  an  appetite 
is  likely  to  go  into  faintness  unless  attended  to  at  once. 
I  know  that  the  coats  of  my  stomach  are  honeycombed 
with  gastric  juice.  Shall  I  say  grace  ?  Another  half- 
hour  of  delay  will  finish  me." 

Consequently  but  three  persons  sat  down  to  a  plentiful 
meal ;  but  some  goose,  cold,  had  hardly  been  served, 
when  in  came  Mr.  Scantlebray,  the  agent,  with  a  cheery 
salutation  of  "  Hulloa,  Menaida,  old  man !  What,  eating 
and  drinking  u?  I'll  handle  a  knife  and  fork  with  you, 
unasked.  Beg  pardon,  Mr,  Mules.  I'm  a  rough  man, 
and  an  old  acquaintance  of  our  good  friend  here.  Hope 
I  see  you  in  the  enjoyment  of  robust  health,  sir.  Oh, 
Menaida,  old  man !  I  didn't  expect  such  a  thing  as  this. 
Now  I  begin  to  see  daylight,  and  understand  why  I  was 
turned  out  of  the  valuership,  and  why  my  brother  lost 
this  promising  young  pupil.  Ah,  ha!  my  man,  you 
have  been  deprived  of  fun,  such  fun,  roaring  fun,  by  not 
being  with  my  brother  Scanty.  Well,  sir,"  to  Mr.  Mules, 
"  what  was  the  figure  of  the  valuation  ?  You  had  a  queer 
man  on  your  side.  I  pity  you.  A  man  I  wouldn't  trust 
myself.  I  name  no  names.  Now  tell  me,  what  did  you 
get?" 

"  A  hundred  and  twenty-seven  pounds  four  and  nine- 
pence  farthing.  Monstrous — a  chouse." 

"  As  you  say,  monstrous.     Why  that  chancel,  show  me 


254  IN  THE  EOAE   OF  TTIE  SEA. 

the  builder  who  will  contract  to  do  that  alone  at  a  hun- 
dred and  twenty-seven  pounds  ?  And  the  repairs  of  the 
vestry — are  they  to  be  reckoned  at  four  and  ninepence 
farthing  ?  It  is  a  swindle.  I'd  appeal.  I'd  refuse.  You 
made  a  mistake,  sir,  let  me  tell  you,  in  falling-  into  cer- 
tain hands.  Yes — I'll  have  some  goose,  thank  you." 

Mr.  Scantlebray  ate  heartily,  so  did  the  Reverend 
Desiderius,  who  had  the  honeycomb  cells  of  his  stomach 
coats  to  fill. 

Both,  moreover,  did  justice  to  Mr.  Menaida's  wine,  they 
did  not  spare  it ;  why  should  they  ?  Those  for  whom  the 
board  was  spread  had  not  troubled  to  come  to  it,  and 
they  must  make  amends  for  their  neglect. 

"  Horrible  weather,"  said  the  rector.  "I  suppose  this 
detestable  sort  of  stuff  of  which  the  atmosphere  is  com- 
posed is  the  prevailing  abomination  one  has  to  inhale 
throughout  three-quarters  of  the  year.  One  cannot  see 
three  yards  before  one." 

"It's  bad  for  some  and  good  for  others,"  answered 
Scantlebray.  "There'll  be  wrecks,  certainly,  after  this, 
especially  if  we  get,  as  we  are  pretty  sure  to  get,  a  wind 
ashore." 

"  Wrecks !  "  exclaimed  the  Rector,  "  and  pray  who  pays 
the  fees  for  drowned  men  I  may  be  expected  to  bury  1  " 

:c  The  parish,"  answered  Uncle  Zachie. 

"  Oh,  half-a-crown  a  head,"  said  Mr.  Mules,  contempt- 
uously. 

"  There  are  other  things  to  be  had  besides  burial  fees 
out  of  a  wreck,"  said  Scantlebray ;  "  but  you  must  be 
down  early  before  the  coast-guard  are  there.  Have  you 
donkeys  ? " 

"  Donkeys !     What  for  ?  " 

"I  have^one,  a  gray  beauty,"  exclaimed  Jamie  ;  "  Cap- 
tain Coppinger  gave  her  to  me." 

"  Well,  young  man,  then  you  pick  up  what  you  can, 
when  you  have  the  chance,  and  lade  her  with  your  find- 
ings. You'll  pick  up  something  better  than  corpses, 
and  make  something  more  than  burial  half-crowns." 

"  But  why  do  you  suppose  there  will  be  wrecks'?  "  in- 
quired the  rector  of  St.  Enodoc.  "  There  is  no  storm." 

"  No  storm,  certainly,  but  there  is  fog,  and  in  the  fog 
vessels  coming  up  the  Channel  to  Bristol  get  lost  as  to 
their  bearings,  get  near  our  cliffs  without  knowing  it, 
and  then — if  a  wind  from  the  west  spring  up  and  blows 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  255 

rough— they  are  done  for,  they  can't  escape  to  the  open. 
That's  it,  old  man.  I  beg-  your  Reverence's  pardon,  I 
mean,  sir.  When  I  said  that  such  weather  was  bad  for 
some  and  good  for  others  you  can  understand  me  now — 
bad  for  the  wrecked,  good  for  the  wreckers." 

"  But  surely  you  have  no  wreckers  here  1 " 

Mr.  Scantlebray  laughed.  "Go  and  tell  the  bride- 
groom that  you  think  so.  I'll  let  you  into  the  knowl- 
edge of  one  thing  " — he  winked  over  his  glass — "  there's 
a  fine  merchantman  on  her  way  to  Bristol." 

"  How  do  you  know  1 " 

"  Know  !  Because  she  was  sighted  off  St.  Ives,  and  the 
tidings  has  run  up  the  coast  like  fire  among  heather.  I 
don't  doubt  it  that  it  has  reached  Hartland  by  this  ;  and 
with  a  thick  fog-  like  to-day  there  are  a  thousand  hearts 
beating-  with  expectation.  Who  can  say  ?  She  may  be 
laden  with  gold-dust  from  Africa,  or  with  tin  from  Barca, 
or  with  port  from  Oporto." 

"  My  boy  Oliver  is  coming  home,"  said  Mr.  Menaida. 

"  Then  let's  hope  he  is  not  in  this  vessel,  for,  old  man, 
she  stands  a  bad  chance  in  such  weather  as  this.  There 
is  Porth-quiii,  aiid  there  is  Hayle  Bay  ready  to  receive 
her,  or  Doom  Bar  on  which  she  may  run,  all  handy  for 
our  people.  Are  you  anything-  of  a  sportsman,  sir  ? " 

"A  little — but  I  don't  fancy  there  is  much  in  this 
precious  country — no  cover." 

"  What  is  fox-hunting-  when  you  come  to  consider— or 
going  after  a  snipe  or  a  partridge  ?  A  fox !  it's  naught, 
the  brush  stinks,  and  a  snipe  is  but  a  mouthful.  My 
dear  sir,  if  you  come  to  live  among  us,  you  must  seek  your 
sport  not  on  the  land  but  at  sea.  You'll  find  the  sport 
worth  something  when  you  get  a  haul  of  a  barrel  of  first- 
rate  sherry,  or  a  load  of  silver  ingots.  Why,  that's  how 
Pen  warden  bought  his  farm.  He  got  the  money  after  a 
storm — found  it  on  the  shore  out  of  the  pocket  of  a  dead, 
man.  Do  you  know  why  the  bells  of  St.  Enodoc  are  so 
sweet  ?  Because,  so  folks  say,  melted  into  them  are  in- 
gots of  Peruvian  silver  from  a  ship  wrecked  on  Doom 
Bar." 

"I  should  like  to  get  some  silver  or  gold,"  said 
Jamie. 

"  I  daresay  you  would,  and  so  perhaps  you  may  if  you 
look  out  for  it.  Go  to  your  good  friend,  Captain  Cop- 
pinger,  and  tell  him  what  you  want.  He  has  made  his 


256  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

pickings  before  now  on  shore  and  off  wrecks,  and  lias 
not  given  up  the  practice." 

"But,"  said  Mr.  Mules,  "do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that 
you  people  in  this  benighted  corner  of  the  world  live 
like  sharks,  upon  whatever  is  cast  overboard  ?  " 

"  No,  I  do  not,"  answered  Scantlebray.  "  We  have  too 
much  energy  and  intelligence  for  that.  We  don't  always 
wait  till  it  is  cast  overboard,  we  go  aboard  and  take  what 
we  want." 

"What,  steal!" 

"  I  don't  call  that  stealing  when  Providence  and  a  south- 
west wind  throws  a  ship  into  our  laps,  when  we  put  in 
our  fingers  and  pick  out  the  articles  we  want.  What  are 
Porth-quin  and  Hayle  Bay  but  our  laps,  in  which  lie  the 
wrecks  heaven  sends  us  ?  And  Doom  Bar,  what  is  that 
but  a  counter  on  which  the  good  things  are  spread,  and 
those  first  there  get  the  first  share  1  " 

"And  pray,"  said  Mr.  Desiderius  Mules,  "have  the 
owners  of  the  vessels,  the  passengers,  the  captains,  no 
objections  to  make  ?  " 

"  They  are  not  there.  Don't  wait  for  our  people.  If 
they  do — so  much  the  worse  for  them."  Then  Scantle- 
bray laughed.  "  There's  a  good  story  told  of  the  Zenobia, 
lost  four  years  ago.  There  was  a  lady  on  board.  When 
she  knew  the  vessel  was  on  Doom  Bar  she  put  on  all  her 
jewelry,  to  escape  with  it.  But  some  of  our  people  got 
to  the  wreck  before  she  got  off  it,  and  one  lobe  of  her 
ears  got  torn  off." 

'Torn  off?" 

'  Yes — in  pulling  the  ear-rings  off  her." 

'  But  who  pulled  the  ear-rings  off  her  ? " 

'  Our  people." 

'  Gracious  heavens !  Were  they  not  brought  to  jus- 
tice ? " 

"  Who  did  it  ?  no  one  knew.  What  became  of  the 
jewelry  ?  no  one  knew.  All  that  was  known  was  that 
Lady  Knighton — that  was  her  name — lost  her  diamonds 
and  the  lobe  of  her  right  ear  as  wrell." 

"  And  it  was  never  recovered  ?  " 

"  What !   the  lobe  of  her  ear  ?  " 

"No,  the  jewelry." 

"  Never." 

"  Upon  my  word  I  have  got  among  a  parcel  of  scoun- 
drels. It  is  high  time  that  I  should  come  and  reform 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  257 

them.  I'll  set  to  work  at  once.  I'll  have  St.  Enodoc  dug- 
out and  restored,  and  111  soon,  put  an  end  to  this  sort  of 
thins1." 

"  You  think  so  ?" 

"  You  don't  know  me.  I'll  have  a  bazaar.  I'll  have  a 
ball  in  the  Assembly  Rooms  at  Wadebridge.  The  church 
shall  be  excavated.  I'm  not  going-  in  there  again  with 
the  bats,  to  have  my  boots  filled  with  sand,  I  can  tell  you 
— everything  shall  be  renovated  and  put  to  rights.  I'll 
see  to  it  at  once.  I'll  have  a  pigeon  shooting  for  the  sake 
of  my  chancel — I  daresay  I  shall  raise  twenty  pounds  by 
that  alone — and  a  raffle  for  the  font,  and  an  Aunt  Sally 
for  the  pulpit.  But  the  ball  will  be  the  main  thing,  I'll 
send  and  get  the  county  people  to  patronize.  I'll  do  it, 
and  you  barbarians  in  this  benighted  corner  of  the  world 
shall  see  there  is  a  man  of  energy  among  you." 

"You'd  best  try  your  hand  on  a  wreck.  You'll  get 
more  off  that." 

"  And  I'll  have  a  bran  pie  for  an  altar-table." 

"  You  won't  get  the  parishioners  to  do  anything  for 
the  restoration  of  the  church.  They  don't  want  to  have 
it  restored." 

"  The  Decalogue  is  rotten.  I  ran  my  umbrella  through 
the  Ten  Commandments  this  morning.  I'll  have  a  gypsy 
camp  and  fortune-telling  to  furnish  me  with  new  Com- 
mandments." 

"  I've  heard  tell,"  said  Scantlebray,  "  that  at  Pong-hill, 
near  Stratton,  is  a  four-post  bed  of  pure  gold  came  off  a 
wreck  in  Bude  Bay."  * 

"  When  I  was  in  the  North,"  said  the  rector  of  St.  Eno- 
doc, "  we  had  a  savage  who  bit  off  the  heads  of  rats,  snap, 
skinned  them  and  ate  them  raw,  and  charged  sixpence 
entrance ;  but  that  was  for  the  missionaries.  I  should 
hardly  advocate  that  for  the  restoration  of  a  church ;  be- 
sides, where  is  the  savage  to  be  got  ?  We  made  twenty- 
seven  pounds  by  that  man,  but  expenses  were  heavy  and 
swallowed  up  twenty -five;  we  sent  two  pounds  to  the 
missionaries." 

Mr.  Menaida  stood  up  and  went  to  the  window. 

"  I  believe  the  wind  has  shifted  to  the  north,  and  we 
shall  have  a  lightening  of  the  fog  after  sunset." 

*  An  exaggeration.  The  lied  of  seventeenth  century  Italian  work, 
is  gilt.  It  is  now  in  a  small  farmhouse. 


25S  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

"Shall  we  not  have  a  wreck  ?  I  hope  there'll  be  one," 
said  Jamie. 

"  What  is  the  law  about  wreckage,  Menaicla,  old  man  ?  " 
asked  Scantlebray,  also  coming1  to  the  window. 

"  The  law  is  plain  enough.  No  one  has  a  right  to 
goods  come  to  land ;  he  who  finds  may  claim  -salvage — 
naught  else ;  and  any  persons  taking  goods  cast  ashore, 
which  are  not  legal  wreck,  may  be  punished." 

"And,"  said  Scantlebray,  "what  if  certain  persons 
give  occasion  to  a  ship  being  wrecked,  and  then  plun- 
dering the  wreck  ? " 

"  There  the  law  is  also  plain.  The  invading  and  rob- 
bing of  a  vessel,  either  in  distress  or  wrecked,  and  the 
putting  forth  of  false  lights  in  order  to  bring  a  vessel 
into  danger,  are  capital  felonies." 

Scantlebray  went  to  the  table,  took  up  a  napkin, 
twisted  it  and  then  flung  it  round  his  neck,  and  hung 
his  head  on  one  side. 

"  What— this,  Menaida,  old  man  ? " 

Uncle  Zacliie  nodded. 

"  Come  here,  Jim,  my  boy,  a  word  with  you  outside." 
Scantlebray  led  Jamie  into  the  road.  "  There's  been  a 
shilling  owing  you  for  some  time.  We  had  roaring  fun 
about  it  once.  Here  it  is.  Now  listen  to  me.  Go  to 
Pentyre,  you  want  to  find  gold-dust  on  the  shore,  don't 
you  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  Or  bars  of  silver  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  beg  Captain  Coppinger,  if  he  is  going  to  have 
a  Jack  o'  Lantern  to -night,  to  let  you  be  the  Jack.  Do 
you  understand1?  and  mind — not  a  word  about  me.  Then 
gold-dust  and  bars  of  silver  and  purses  of  shillings. 
Slind  you  ask  to  be  Jack  o'  Lantern.  It  is  fun.  Such 
fun.  Bearing  fun." 


CHAPTEE  XXXV. 

JACK  O'  LANTERN. 

Evening  closed  in ;  Judith  had  been  left  entirely  to 
herself.  She  sat  in  the  window,  looking-  out  into  the 
mist  and  watching-  the  failing  of  the  light.  Sometimes 
she  opened  the  casement  and  allowed  the  vapor  to  blow 
in  like  cold  steam,  then  became  chilled,  shivered,  and 
closed  it  ag-ain  The  wind,  was  rising-  and  piped  about 
the  house,  piped  at  her  window.  Judith,  sitting-  there, 
tried  with  her  hand  to  find  the  crevice  through  which 
the  blast  drove,  and  then  amused  herself  with  playing 
with  her  finger-tops  on  the  opening's  and  regrulating-  the 
whistle  so  as  to  form  a  tune.  She  heard  frequently  Cop- 
ping-er's  voice  in  conversation,  sometimes  in  the  hall, 
sometimes  in  the  court-yard,  but  could  not  catch  what 
was  spoken.  She  listened,  with  childish  curiosity, 
to  the  voice  that  was  now  that  of  her  lord  and  hus- 
band, and  endeavored  to  riddle  out  of  it  some  an- 
swer to  her  questions  as  to  what  sort  of  a  master  he 
would  prove.  She  could  not  comprehend  him.  She 
had  heard  stories  told  of  him  that  made  her  deem 
him  the  worst  of  men,  remorselesss  and  regardless  of 
others,  yet  toward  her  he  had  proved  gentle  and  con- 
siderate. What,  for  instance,  could  be  more  deli- 
cate and  thoughtful  than  his  behavior  to  her  at  this 
very  time  ?  Feeling-  that  she  had  married  him  with  re- 
luctance, he  had  kept  away  from  her  and  suffered  her  to 
recover  her  composure  without  affording  her  additional 
strug-g-le.  A  reaction  after  the  strain  on  her  nerves  set 
in ;  the  step  she  had  dreaded  had  been  taken,  and  she 
was  the  wife  of  the  man  she  feared  and  did  not  love. 
The  suspense  of  expectation  was  exchang-ed  for  the 
calmer  grief  of  retrospect. 

The  fog-  all  day  had  been  white  as  wool,  and  she  had 
noticed  how  parcels  of  vapor  had  been  caug-ht  and  en- 
tangled in  the  thorn  bushes  as  the  fog-  swept  by,  very 
much  as  sheep  left  flocks  of  their  fleece  in  the  bushes 


260  CT  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

when  they  broke  out  of  a  field.  Now  that  the  day  set, 
the  vapor  lost  its  whiteness  and  became. ash  gray,  but  it 
was  not  as  dense  as  it  had  been,  or  rather  it  was  com- 
pacted in  places  into  thick  masses  with  clear  tracts  be- 
tween. The  sea  was  not  visible,  nor  the  cliffs,  but  she 
could  distinguish  out-buildings,  tufts  of  furze  and 
hedges.  The  wind  blew  much  stronger,  and  she  could 
hear  the  boom  of  the  waves  against  the  rocks,  like  the 
throbbing  of  the  unseen  heart  of  the  world.  It  was  louder 
than  it  had  been.  The  sound  did  not  come  upon  the 
wind,  for  the  fog  that  muffled  all  objects  from  sight, 
muffled  also  all  sounds  to  the  ear,  but  the  boom  came 
from  the  vibration  of  the  land.  The  sea  flung  against 
the  coast-line  shook  the  rocks,  and  they  quivered  for  a 
long  distance  inland,  making  every  wall  and  tree  quiver 
also,  and  the  sound  of  the  sea  was  heard  not  through 
the  ears  but  through  the  soles  of  the  feet. 

Miss  Trevisa  came  in. 

'  Shall  I  light  you  a  pair  of  candles,  Judith  ? " 

'  I  thank  you,  hardly  yet." 

'  And  will  you  not  eat  ?  " 

'  Yes,  presently,  when  supper  is  served." 

'  You  will  come  down-stairs  1 " 

'Yes." 

'  I  am  glad  to  hear  that." 

e  Aunt,  I  thought  you  were  going  to  Othello  Cottage 
the  day  I  came  here." 

"Captain  Coppinger  will  not  suffer  me  to  leave  at 
once  till  you  have  settled  down  to  your  duties  as  mis- 
tress of  the  house." 

"  Oh,  auntie !  I  shall  never  be  able  to  manage  this 
large  establishment." 

"  Why  not  ?    You  managed  that  at  the  rectory." 

"  Yes,  but  it  was  so  different." 

"  How  so  ? " 

"  My  dear  papa's  requirements  were  so  simple,  and  so 
few,  and  there  were  no  men  about  except  old  Balhachet, 
and  he  was  a  dear,  good  old  humbug.  Here,  I  don't 
know  how  many  men  there  are,  and  who  belong  to  the 
house,  and  who  do  not.  They  are  in  one  day  and  out 
the  next — and  then  Captain  Coppinger  is  not  like  my 
own  darling  papa." 

"  No,  indeed,  he  is  not.  Shall  I  light  the  candles  ?  I 
have  something:  to  show  vou." 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  201 

"  As  you  will,  aunt." 

Miss  Trevisa  went  into  her  room  and  fetched  a  light, 
and  kindled  the  two  candles  that  stood  on  Judith's 
dressing-table. 

"  Oh,  aunt !  not  three  candles." 

"  Why  not  ?     We  shall  need  light." 

"  But  three  candles  together  bring  ill-luck ;  and  we 
have  had  enough  already." 

"Pshaw!  Don't  be  a  fool.  I -want  light,  for  I  have 
something  to  show  you." 

She  opened  a  small  box  and  drew  forth  a  brooch  and 
earrings  that  flashed  in  the  rays  of  the  candle. 

"  Look,  child !  they  are  yours.  Captain  Coppinger  has 
given  them  to  you.  They  are  diamonds.  See — a  butter- 
fly for  the  breast,  and  two  little  butterflies  for  the  ears." 

"  Oh,  auntie !  not  for  me.     I  do  not  want  them." 

"  This  is  ungracious.  I  daresay  they  cost  many  hun- 
dreds of  pounds.  They  are  diamonds." 

Judith  took  the  brooch  and  earrings  in  her  hand ;  they 
sparkled.  The  diamonds  were  far  from  being  brilliants, 
they  were  of  good  size  and  purest  water. 

"  I  really  do  not  want  to  have  them.  Persuade  Cap- 
tain Coppinger  to  return  them  to  the  jeweller,  it  is  far 
too  costly  a  gift  for  me,  far — far — I  should  be  happier 
without  them."  Then,  suddenly — "  I  do  not  know  that 
they  have  been  bought  ?  Oh,  Aunt  Dunes,  tell  me  truly. 
Have  they  been  bought  ?  I  think  jewellers  always  send 
out  their  goods  in  leather  cases,  and  there  is  none  such 
for  these.  And  see — this  earring — the  gold  is  bent,  as 
if  pulled  out  of  shape.  I  am  sure  they  have  not  been 
bought.  Take  them  back  again,  I  pray  you." 

"  You  little  fool !  "  said  Miss  Trevisa,  angrily.  "  I  will 
do  nothing  of  the  kind.  If  you  refuse  them — then  take 
them  back  yourself.  Captain  Coppinger  performs  a 
generous  and  kind  act  that  costs  him  much  money,  and 
you  throw  his  gift  in  his  face,  you  insult  him.  Insult 
him  yourself  with  your  suspicions  and  refusals  —  you 
have  already  behaved  to  him  outrageously.  I  will  do 
nothing  for  you  that  you  ask.  Your  father  put  on  me  a 
task  that  is  hateful,  and  I  wish  I  were  clear  of  it." 

Then  she  bounced  out  of  the  room,  leaving  her  candle 
burning  along  with  the  other  two. 

A  moment  later  she  came  back  hastily  and  closed  Ju- 
dith's shutters. 


202  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

"  Oh,  leave  them  open,"  pleaded  Judith.  "  I  shall  like 
to  see  how  the  night  goes— if  the  fog-  clears  away." 

"  No — I  will  not,"  answered  Miss  Trevisa,  roughly. 
"  And  mind  you.  These  shutters  remain  shut,  or  your 
candles  go  out.  Your  window  commands  the  sea,  and 
the  light  of  your  window  must  not  show." 

"AVhy  not?" 

"Because  should  the  fog  lift,  it  would  be  seen  by 
vessels." 

"  Why  should  they  not  see  it  1  " 

"  You  are  a  fool.     Obey,  and  ask  no  questions." 

Miss  Trevisa  put  up  the  bar  and  then  retired  with 
her  candle,  leaving  Judith  to  her  own  thoughts,  with 
the  diamonds  on  the  table  before  her. 

And  her  thoughts  were  reproachful  of  herself.  She 
was  ungracious  and  perhaps  unjust.  Her  husband  had 
sent  her  a  present  of  rare  value,  and  she  was  disposed  to 
reject  it,  and  charge  him  with  not  having  come  by  the 
diamonds  honestly.  They  were  not  new  from  a  jeweller, 
but  what  of  that  ?  Could  he  afford  to  buy  her  a  set  at 
the  price  of  some  hundreds  of  pounds  1  And  because  he 
had  not  obtained  them  from  a  jeweller,  did  it  follow  that 
he  had  taken  them  unlawfully  ?  He  might  have  picked 
them  up  on  the  shore,  or  have  bought  them  from  a  man 
who  had.  He  might  have  obtained  them  at  a  sale  in 
the  neighborhood.  They  might  be  family  jewels,  that 
had  belonged  to  his  mother,  and  he  was  showing  her 
the  highest  honor  a  man  could  show  a  woman  in  asking 
her  to  wear  the  ornaments  that  had  belonged  to  his 
mother. 

He  had  exhibited  to  her  a  store-room  full  of  beautiful 
things,  but  these  might  be  legitimately  his,  brought 
from  foreign  countries  by  his  ship  the  Black  Prince.  It 
was  possible  that  they  were  not  contraband  articles. 

Judith  opened  her  door  and  went  down-stairs.  In  the 
hall  she  found  Coppinger  with  two  or  three  men,  but 
the  moment  he  saw  her  he  started  up,  came  to  meet  her, 
and  drew  her  aside  into  a  parlor,  then  went  back  into 
the  hall  and  fetched  candles.  A  fire  was  burning  in 
this  room,  ready  for  her,  should  she  condescend  to  use  it. 

"  I  hope  I  have  not  interrupted  you,"  she  said,  timidly. 

"  An  agreeable  interruption.  At  any  time  you  have 
only  to  show  yourself  and  I  will  at  once  come  to  you, 
and  never  ask  to  be  dismissed." 


IN  77/77  ROAR   OF   THE  SEA.  263 

She  knew  that  this  was  no  empty  compliment,  that 
he  meant  it  from  the  depth  of  his  heart,  and  was  sorry 
that  she  could  not  respond  to  an  affection  so  deep  and 
so  sincere. 

"  You  have  been  very  good  to  me — more  good  than  I 
deserve,"  she  said,  standing"  by  the  fire  with  lowered 
eyes,  "  I  must  thank  you  now  for  a  splendid  and  beauti- 
ful present,  and  I  really  do  not  know  how  to  find  words 
in  which  fittingly  to  acknowledge-  it." 

"  You  cannot  thank  and  gratify  me  better  than  by 
wearing  what  I  have  given  you." 

"  But  when  ?     Surely  not  on  an  ordinary  evening  ?  " 

"  No — certainly.  The  Rector  has  been  up  this  after- 
noon and  desired  to  see  you,  he  is  hot  on  a  scheme  for  a 
public  ball  to  be  given  at  Wadebridge  for  the  restoration 
of  his  church,  and  he  has  asked  that  you  will  be  a  pa- 
troness." 

"  I— oh— I !— after  my  father's  death  ?  " 

"  That  was  in  the  late  spring,  and  now  it  is  the  early 
winter,  besides,  now  you  are  a  married  lady — and  was 
not  the  digging  out  and  restoring  of  the  church  your 
father's  strong  desire  ?  " 

"  Yes — but  he  would  never  have  had  a  ball  for  such  a 
purpose." 

"  The  money  must  be  raised  somehow.  So  I  prom- 
ised for  you.  You  could  not  well  refuse — he  was  impa- 
tient to  be  off  to  Wadebridge  and  secure  the  assembly 
rooms." 

"  But — Captain  Coppinger— 

"  Captain  Coppinger  ?  " 

Judith  colored.  "  I  beg  your  pardon — I  forgot.  And 
now — I  do  not  recollect  what  I  was  going  to  say.  It 
matters  nothing.  If  you  wish  me  to  go  I  will  go.  If 
you  wish  me  to  wear  diamond  butterflies  I  will  wear 
them." 

"  I  thank  you."    He  held  out  his  hands  to  her. 

She  drew  back  slightly  and  folded  her  palms  as  though 
praying.  "  I  will  do  much  to  please  you,  but  do  not 
press  me  too  greatly.  I  am  strange  in  this  house, 
strange  in  my  new  situation ;  give  me  time  to  breathe 
and  look  round  and  recover  my  confidence.  Besides,  we 
are  only  half -married  so  far." 

"  How  so  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  signed  the  register." 


264  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

'  No,  but  that  shall  be  done  to  morrow." 

"Yes,  to-morrow — but  that  gives  IHQ  breathing-  time. 
You  will  be  patient  and  forbearing  with  me."  She  put 
forward  her  hands  folded  and  he  put  his  outside  them 
and  pressed  them.  The  flicker  of  the  fire  lent  a  little 
color  to  her  cheeks  and  surrounded  her  head  with  an 
aureole  of  spun  gold. 

"  Judith,  I  will  do  anything  you  ask.  I  love  you  with 
all  my  soul,  past  speaking.  I  am  your  slave.  But  do 
not  hold  me  too  long  in  chains,  do  not  tread  me  too 
ruthlessly  under  foot." 

"  Give  me  time,"  she  pleaded. 

"  I  will  give  you  a  little  time,"  he  answered. 

Then  she  withdrew  her  hands  from  between  his  and 
sped  up  stairs,  leaving  him  looking  into  the  fire  with 
troubled  face. 

When  she  returned  to  her  room  the  candles  were 
still  burning,  and  the  diamonds  lay  on  the  dressing- 
table  where  she  had  left  them.  She  took  the  brooch  and 
earrings  to  return  them  to  their  box,  and  then  noticed  for 
the  first  time  that  they  were  wrapped  in  paper,  not  in 
cotton-wool.  She  tapped  at  her  aunt's  door,  and  enter- 
ing asked  if  she  had  any  cotton-wool  that  she  could  spare 
her. 

"  No.  I  have  not.     What  do  you  want  it  for  ?  " 

"  For  the  jewelry.  It  cannot  have  come  from  a  shop, 
as  it  was  wrapped  in  paper  only." 

"  It  will  take  110  hurt      Wrap  it  in  paper  again." 

"  I  had  rather  not,  auntie.  Besides,  I  have  some  cot- 
ton-wool in  my  work-box." 

"  Then  use  it." 

"  But  my  work-box  has  not  been  brought  here.  It  is 
at  Mr.  Menaida's." 

"  You  can  fetch  it  to-morrow." 

"  But  I  am  lost  without  my  needles  and  thread.  Be- 
sides, I  do  not  like  to  leave  my  work-box  about.  I  wdll 
go  for  it.  The  walk  will  do  me  good." 

"  Nonsense,  it  is  falling  dark." 

"  I  will  get  Uncle  Zachie  to  walk  back  with  me.  I 
must  have  my  work-box.  Besides,  the  fresh  air  will  do 
me  good,  and  the  fog  has  lifted." 

"  As  you  will,  then." 

So  Judith  put  on  her  cloak  and  drew  a  hood  over 
her  head  and  went  back  to  Polzeath.  She  knew  the  way 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  2G5 

perfectly,  there  was  no  danger,  night  had  not  closed  in. 
It  would  be  a  pleasure  to  her  to  see  the  old  bird-stuffer's 
face  again,  and  she  wanted  to  find  Jamie.  -  She  had  not 
seen  him  nor  heard  his  voice,  and  she  supposed  he  must 
be  at  Polzeath. 

On  her  arrival  at  the  double  cottage,  the  old  fellow 
was  delighted  to  see  her,  and  to  see  that  she  had  recov- 
ered from  the  distress  and  faintness  of  the  morning  suf- 
ficiently to  be  able  to  walk  back -to  his  house  from  her 
new  home.  Her  first  question  was  after  Jamie.  Uncle 
Zachie  told  her  that  Jamie  had  breakfasted  at  his  table, 
but  he  had  gone  away  in  the  afternoon  and  he  had  seen 
no  more  of  him.  The  fire  was  lighted,  and  Uncle  Zachie 
insisted  on  Judith  sitting  by  it  with  him  and  talking 
over  the  events  of  the  day,  and  on  telling  him  that  she 
was  content  with  her  position,  reconciled  to  the  change 
of  her  state. 

She  sat  longer  with  him  than  she  had  intended,  listen- 
ing to  his  disconnected  chatter,  and  then  nothing  would 
suffice  him  but  she  must  sit  at  the  piano  and  play 
through  his  favorite  pieces. 

"  Remember,  Judith,  it  is  the  last  time  I  shall  have  you 
here  to  give  me  this  pleasure." 

She  could  not  refuse  him  his  request,  especially  as  lie 
was  to  walk  back  to  Pentyre  with  her.  Thus  time  passed, 
and  it  was  with  alarm  and  self-reproach  that  she  started 
up  on  hearing  the  clock  strike  the  half-past,  and  learned 
that  it  was  half -past  nine,  and  not  half  past  eight,  as  she 
supposed. 

As  she  now  insisted  on  departing,  Mr.  Menaida  put  on 
his  hat. 

"  Shall  we  take  a  light  ?  "  he  asked,  and  then  said :  "  No, 
we  had  better  not.  On  such  a  night  as  this  a  moving 
light  is  dangerous." 

"  How  can  it  be  dangerous •?  "  asked  Judith. 

"  Not  to  us,  my  dear  child,  but  to  ships  at  sea.  A  sta- 
tionary light  might  serve  as  a  warning,  but  a  moving 
light  misleads.  The  captain  of  a  vessel,  if  he  has  lost  his 
bearings,  as  is  like  enough  in  the  fog,  as  soon  as  the  mist 
rises,  would  see  a  light  gliding  along  and  think  it  was 
that  of  a  vessel  at  sea,  and  so  make  in  the  direction  of  the 
light  in  the  belief  that  there  was  open  water,  and  so  run 
directly  on  his  destruction." 

"  Oh,  no,  110,  Uncle,  we  will  not  take  a  light." 


206  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

Mr.  Menaida  and  Judith  went  out  together,  she  with 
her  workbox  under  her  arm,  he  with  his  stick,  and  her 
hand  resting  on  his  arm.  The  night  was  dark,  very  dark, 
but  the  way  led  for  the  most  part  over  down,  and  there 
was  just  sufficient  light  in  the  sky  for  the  road  to  be  dis- 
tinguishable. It  would  be  in  the  lane,  between  the  walls 
and  where  overhung  by  thorns,  that  the  darkness  would 
be  most  profound.  The  wind  was  blowing  strongly  and 
the  sound  of  the  breakers  came  on  it  now,  for  the  cloud 
had  lifted  off  land  and  sea,  though  still  hanging  low. 
Very  dense  overhead  it  could  not  be,  or  no  light  would 
have  pierced  the  vaporous  canopy. 

Uncle  Zachie  and  Judith  walked  on  talking  together, 
and  she  felt  cheered  by  his  presence,  when  all  at  once 
she  stopped,  pressed  his  arm,  and  said : 

"  Oh,  do  look,  uncle  !     What  is  that  light  ? " 

In  the  direction  of  the  cliffs  a  light  was  distinctly  visi- 
ble, now  rising,  now  falling,  observing  an  unevenly  un- 
dulating motion. 

"  Oh,  uncle  ?  It  is  too  dreadful.  Some  foolish  person 
is  on  the  downs  going  home  with  a  lantern,  and  it  may 
lead  to  a  dreadful  error,  and  a  wreck." 

'  I  hope  to  heaven  it  is  only  what  you  say." 

'  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

'  That  it  is  not  done  wilfully." 

:  Wilfully ! " 

'  Yes,  with  the  purpose  to  mislead.  Look.  The  move- 
ment of  the  light  is  exactly  that  of  a  ship  on  a  rolling 
sea." 

"  Uncle,  let  us  go  there  at  once  and  stop  it." 

"  I  don't  know,  my  dear ;  if  it  be  done  by  some  unprin- 
cipled ruffian  he  would  not  be  stopped  by  us." 

"  It  must  be  stopped.  And,  oh,  think  !  you  told  me  that 
your  Oliver  is  coining  home.  Think  of  him." 

"  We  will  go." 

Mr.  Menaida  was  drawn  along  by  Judith  in  her  eager- 
ness. They  left  the  road  to  Pentyre,  and  struck  out  over 
the  downs,  keeping  their  eyes  011  the  light.  The  distance 
was  deceptive.  It  seemed  to  have  been  much  nearer  than 
they  found  it  actually  to  be. 

"  Look !  it  is  coming  back !  "  exclaimed  Judith. 

"  Yes,  it  is  done  wilfully.  That  is  to  give  the  appear- 
ance of  a  vessel  tacking  up  Channel.  Stay  behind,  Judith. 
I  will  iro  011." 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  267 

"  No.  I  will  go  with  you.  You  would  not  find  me  again 
in  the  darkness  if  we  parted." 

"  The  light  is  coming  this  way.  Stand  still.  It  will 
come  directly  on  us." 

They  drew  up.  Judith  clung  to  Uncle  Zachie's  side,  her 
heart  beating  with  excitement,  indignation,  and  anger. 

"The  lantern  is  fastened  to  an  ass's  head,"  said  Uncle 
Zachie  ;  "  do  you  see  how  as  the  creature  moves  his  head 
the  light  is  swayed,  and  that  with  the  rise  and  fall  in  the 
land  it  looks  as  though  the  rise  and  fall  were  on  the  sea. 
I  have  my  stick.  Stand  behind  me,  Judith." 

But  a  voice  was  heard  that  made  her  gasp  and  clasp 
the  arm  of  Uncle  Zachie  the  tighter. 

Neither  spoke. 

The  light  approached.  They  could  distinguish  the 
lantern,  though  they  could  not  see  what  bore  it ;  only- 
next  moment  something  caught  the  light — the  ear  of  a 
donkey  thrust  forward. 

Again  a  voice,  that  of  some  one  urging  on  the  ass. 

Judith  let  go  Menaida's  arm,  sprang  forward  with  a  cry : 
"Jamie  !  Jamie  !  what  are  you  doing  ? " 

In  a  moment  she  had  wrenched  the  lantern  from  the 
head  of  the  ass,  and  the  creature,  startled,  dashed  away 
and  disappeared  in  the  darkness.  Judith  put  the  light 
under  her  cloak. 

"  Oh,  Jamie  !  Jamie  !  Why  have  you  done  this  ?  Who 
ever  set  you  to  this  wicked  task  ?  " 

"  I  am  Jack  o'  Lantern,"  answered  the  boy.  "  Ju  !  now 
my  Neddy  is  gone." 

"  Jamie,  who  sent  you  out  to  do  this  ?     Answer  me." 

"  Captain  Coppinger! " 

Judith  walked  on  in  silence.  Neither  she  nor  Uncle 
Zachie  spoke,  only  Jamie  whimpered  and  muttered. 

Suddenly  they  were  surrounded,  and  a  harsh  voice 
exclaimed : 

"  In  the  king's  name.  We  have  you  now — showing 
false  lights." 

Judith  hastily  slung  the  lantern  from  beneath  her 
cloak,  and  saw  that  there  were  several  men  about  her, 
and  that  the  speaker  was  Mr.  Scantlebray. 

The  latter  was  surprised  when  he  recognized  her. 

"  What !  "  he  said,  "  I  did  not  expect  this— pretty 
quickly  into  your  apprenticeship.  What  brings  you 
here  ?  And  you,  too,  Meiiaida,  old  man  ?  " 


268  IN  THE  EOAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

"Nothing-  simpler,"  answered  Uncle  Zachie.  "I  am 
accompanying-  Mrs.  Coppinger  back  to  Ithe  Glaze." 

"  What,  married  in  the  morning  and  roving  the  downs 
at  night  ? " 

"  I  have  been  to  Polzeath  after  my  workbox — here  it 
is,"  said  Judith. 

"  Oh,  you  are  out  of  your  road  to  Pentyre — I  suppose 
you  know  that,"  sneered  Scantlebray. 

"  Naturally,"  replied  Mr.  Menaida.  "  It  is  dark  enough 
for  any  one  to  stray.  Why!  you  don't  suspect  me,  do 
you,  of  showing  false  lights  and  endeavoring-  to  wreck 
vessels !  That  would  be  too  good  a  joke — and  the 
offence,  as  I  told  you — capital." 

Scantlebray  uttered  an  oath  and  turned  to  the  men 
and  said :  "  Captain  Cruel  is  too  deep  for  us  this  time. 
I  thought  he  had  sent  the  boy  out  with  the  ass — instead 
he  has  sent  his  wife—  a  wife  of  a  few  hours,  and  never 
told  her  the  mischief  she  was  to  do  with  the  ]antern — 
hark ! " 

From  the  sea  the  boom  of  a  gun. 

All  stood  still  as  if  rooted  to  the  spot. 

Then  again  the  boom  of  a  gun. 

"There  is  a  wreck!"  exclaimed  Scantlebray.  "I 
thought  so — and  you,  Mistress  Orphing,  you're  guilty." 
He  turned  to  the  men.  "  We  can  make  nothing-  of  this 
affair  with  the  lantern.  Let  us  catch  the  sea- wolves  fall- 
ing on  their  prey." 


CHAPTEB  XXXVI. 

THE  SEA-WOLVES. 

On  the  Doom  Bar. 

That  very  merchantman  was  wrecked,  over  which  so 
in  any 'Cornish  mouths  had  watered,  ay,  and  Devonian 
mouths  also,  from  the  moment  she  had  been  sighted  at 
St.  Ives. 

She  had  been  entangled  in  the  fog,  not  knowing  where 
she  was,  all  her  bearings  lost.  The  wind  had  risen,  and 
when  the  day  darkened  into  night  the  mist  had  lifted  in 
cruel  kindness  to  show  a  false  glimmer,  that  was  at  once 
taken  as  the  light  of  a  ship  beating  up  the  Channel. 
The  head  of  the  merchantman  was  put  about,  a  half- 
reefed  topsail  spread,  and  she  ran  on  her  destruction. 
With  a  crash  she  was  on  the  bar.  The  great  bowlers 
that  roll  without  a  break  from  Labrador  rushed  on 
behind,  beat  her,  hammered  her  farther  and  farther  into 
the  sand,  surged  up  at  each  stroke,  swept  the  decks  with 
mingled  foam  and  water  and  spray. 

The  main-mast  went  down  with  a  snap.  Bent  with 
the  sail,  at  the  jerk,  as  the  vessel  ran  aground,  it  broke 
and  came  down — top -mast,  rigging,  and  sail,  in  an  envel- 
oping, draggled  mass.  From  that  moment  the  captain's 
voice  was  no  more  heard.  Had  he  been  struck  by  the 
falling  mast  and  stunned  or  beaten  overboard  ?  or  did 
he  lie  on  deck  enveloped  and  smothered  in  wet  sail,  or 
had  he  been  caught  and  strangled  by  the  cordage  ?  None 
knew,  none  inquired.  A  wild  panic  seized  crew  and 
passengers  alike.  The  chief  mate  had  the  presence  of 
mind  to  order  the  discharge  of  signals  of  distress — but 
the  order  was  imperfectly  carried  out.  A  flash,  illumi- 
nating for  a  second  the  glittering  froth  and  heaving  sea, 
then  a  boom — almost  stunned  by  the  roar  of  the  sea,  and 
the  screams  of  women  and  oaths  of  sailors,  and  then 
panic  laid  hold  of  the  gunner  also  and  he  deserted  his 
post. 


270  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

The  word  had  gone  round,  none  knew  from  whom,  that 
the  vessel  had  been  lured  to  her  destruction  by  wreckers, 
and  that  in  a  few  minutes  she  would  be  boarded  by  these 
wolves  of  the  sea.  The  captain,  who  should  have  kept 
order,  had  disappeared,  the  mate  was  disregarded,  there 
was  a  general  sauve  qui  pent.  A  few  women  were  oil 
board.  At  the  shock  they  had  come  on  deck,  some  with 
children,  and  the  latter  were  wailing  and  shrieking  with 
terror.  The  women  implored  that  they  might  be  saved. 
Men  passengers  ran  about  asking  what  was  to  be  done, 
and  were  beaten  aside  and  cursed  by  the  frantic  sailors. 
A  Portuguese  nun  was  ill  with  sea-sickness,  and.  sank  on 
the  deck  like  a  log,  crying  to  St.  Joseph  between  her 
paroxysms.  One  man  alone  seemed  to  maintain  his  self- 
possession,  a  young  man,  and  he  did  his  utmost  to  soothe 
the  excited  women  and  abate  their  terrors.  He  raised 
the  prostrate  nun  and  insisted  on  her  laying  hold  of  a 
rope,  lest  in  the  swash  of  the  water  she  should  be  carried 
overboard.  He  entreated  the  mate  to  exert  his  authority 
and  bring  the  sailors  to  a  sense  of  their  duty,  to  save 
the  women  instead  of  escaping  in  the  boat,  regardful  of 
themselves  only. 

Suddenly  a  steady  star,  red  in  color,  glared  out  of  the 
darkness,  and  between  it  and  the  wreck  heaved  and 
tossed  a  welter  of  waves  and  foam. 

"There  is  land,"  shouted  the  mate. 

"And  that  shines  just  where  that  light  was  that  led 
us  here,"  retorted  a  sailor. 

The  vessel  heeled  to  one  side,  and  shipped  water  fore 
and  aft,  over  either  rail,  with  a  hiss  and  heave.  She 
plunged,  staggered,  and  sank  deeper  into  the  sand. 

A  boat  had  been  lowered  and  three  men  were  in  it, 
and  called  to  the  women  to  be  sharp  and  join  them. 
But  this  was  no  easy  matter,  for  the  boat  at  one  moment 
leaped  up  on  the  comb  of  a  black  wave,  and  then  sank  in 
its  yawning  trough,  now  was  close  to  the  side  of  the 
ship,  and  then  separated  from  it  by  a  rift  of  water.  The 
frightened  women  were  let  down  by  ropes,  but  in  their 
bewilderment  missed  their  opportunity  when  the  boat 
was  under  them,  and  some  fell  into  the  water,  and  had 
to  be  dragged  out,  others  refused  to  leave  the  wreck  and 
risk  a  leap  into  the  little  boat.  Nothing  would  induce 
the  sick  mm  to  venture  overboard.  She  could  not  un- 
derstand English  ;  the  young  passenger  addressed  her 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  271 

in  Portuguese,  and  finally,  losing  all  patience  and  finding 
that  precious  time  was  wasted  in  arguing  with  a  poor 
creature  incapable  of  reasoning  in  her  present  condi- 
tion, he  ordered  a  sailor  to  help  him,  caught  her  up  in 
his  arms,  and  proceeded  to  swing  himself  over,  that  he 
might  carry  her  into  the  boat. 

But  at  that  moment  dark  figures  occupied  the  deck, 
and  a  man  arrested  him  with  his  hand,  while  in  a  loud 
and  authoritative  voice  he  called,  "  No  one  leaves  the 
vessel  without  my  orders.  Number  Five,  down  into  the 
boat  and  secure  that.  Number  Seven,  go  with  him. 
Now,  one  by  one,  and  before  each  leaves,  give  over  your 
purses  and  valuables  that  you  are  trying  to  save.  No 
harm  shall  be  done  you,  only  make  no  resistance." 

The  ship  was  in  the  hands  of  the  wreckers. 

The  men  in  the  boat  would  have  cast  off  at  once,  but 
the  two  men  sent  into  it,  Numbers  Five  and  Seven,  pre- 
vented them.  The  presence  of  the  wreckers  produced 
order  where  there  had  been  confusion  before.  The  man 
who  had  laid  his  hand  011  the  Portuguese  nun,  and  had 

fiven  orders,  was  obeyed  not  only  by  his  own  men,  but 
y  the  crew  of  the  merchant  vessel,  and  by  the  passen- 
gers, from  whom  all  thoughts  of  resistance,  if  they  ever 
rose,  vanished  at  once.  All  alike,  coAved  and  docile, 
obeyed  with  out.  a  murmur,  and  began  to  produce  from 
their  pockets  whatever  they  had  secured  and  hoped  to 
carry  ashore  with  them. 

"  Nudding  !  me  nudding !  "  gasped  the  nun. 

"  Let  her  pass  down,"  ordered  the  man  who  acted  as 
captain.  "  Now  the  next — you  !  "  he  turned  on  the  young 
passenger  who  had  assisted  the  nun. 

"  You  scoundrel,"  shouted  the  young  man,  "  you  shall 
not  have  a  penny  of  mine." 

"We  shall  see,"  answered  the  wrecker,  and  levelled 
a  pistol  at  his  head.  "What  answer  do  you  make  to 
this?" 

The  young  man  struck  up  the  pistol,  and  it  was  dis- 
charged into  the  air.  Then  he  sprang  on  the  captain, 
struck  him  in  the  chest,  and  grappled  with  him.  In  a 
moment  a  furious  contest  was  engaged  in  between  the 
two  on  the  wet,  sloping  deck,  sloping,  for  the  cargo  had 
shifted. 

"  Hah !  "  shouted  the  wrecker,  "  a  Cornishman." 

"  Yes,  a  Cornishman,"  answered  the  youth. 


272  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

The  wrecker  knew  whence  lie  came  by  his  method  of 
wrestling-. 

If  there  had  been  light,  crew,  invaders,  and  passengers 
would  have  gathered  in  a  circle  and  watched  the  contest ; 
but  in  the  dark,  lashed  by  foam,  in  the  roar  of  the  waves 
and  the  pipe  of  the  wind,  only  one  or  two  that  were 
near  were  aware  of  the  conflict.  Some  of  the  crew  were 
below.  They  had  got  at  the  spirits  and  were  drinking1. 
One  drunken  sailor  rushed  forth  swearing  and  blasphem- 
ing and  striking  about  him.  He  was  knocked  down  by 
a  wrecker,  and  a  wave  that  heaved  over  the  deck  lifted 
him  and  swept  him  over  the  bulwarks. 

The  wrestle  between  the  two  men  in  the  dark  taxed 
the  full  nerves  and  the  skill  of  each.  The  young  pas- 
senger was  strong  and  nimble,  but  he  had  found  his 
match  in  the  wrecker.  The  latter  was  skilful  and  of 
great  muscular  power.  First  one  went  clown  on  the 
knee,  then  the  other,  but  each  was  up  again  in  a  mo- 
ment. A  blinding  whiff  of  foam  and  water  slashed  be- 
tween them,  stinging  their  eyes,  swashing  into  their 
mouths,  forcing  them  momentarily  to  relax  their  hold 
of  each  other,  but  next  moment  they  had  leaped  at  each 
other  again.  Now  they  held  each  other,  breast  to  breast, 
and  sought,  with  their  arms  bowed  like  the  legs  of  grass- 
hoppers, to  strangle  or  break  each  other's  necks.  Then, 
like  a  clap  of  thunder,  beat  a  huge  billow  against  the 
stern,  and  rolled  in  a  liquid  heap  over  the  deck,  envel- 
oping the  wrestlers,  and  lifted  them  from  their  feet 
and  cast  them,  writhing,  pounding  each  other,  on  the 
deck. 

There  were  screams  and  gasps  from  the  women  as  they 
escaped  from  the  water ;  the  nun  shrieked  to  St.  Joseph 
— she  had  lost  her  hold  and  fell  overboard,  but  was 
caught  and  placed  in  the  boat. 

"  Now  another,"  was  the  shout. 

"  Hand  me  your  money,"  demanded  one  of  the 
wreckers.  "  Madam,  have  no  fear.  "We  do  not  hurt 
women.  I  will  help  you  into  the  boat." 

"I  have  nothing — nothing  but  this !  what  shall  I  do  if 
you  take  my  money  ? " 

"  I  am  sorry — you  must  either  remain  and  drown  when 
the  ship  breaks  up  or  give  me  the  purse." 

She  gave  up  the  purse  and  was  safely  lodged  below. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  gasped  the  captain  of  the  wreckers 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  273 

in  a  moment  of  relaxation  from  the  desperate  strug- 
gle. 

"  An  honest  man — and  you  a  villain,"  retorted  the 
young1  passenger,  and  the  contest  was  recommenced. 

"  Let  go,"  said  the  wrecker,  "  and  you  snail  be  allowed 
to  depart — and  carry  your  money  with  you." 

"  I  ask  no  man's  leave  to  carry  what  is  my  own,"  an- 
swered the  youth.  He  put  "his  hand  to  his  waist  and  un- 
buckled a  belt,  to  this  belt  was  attached  a  pouch  well 
weighted  with  metal.  "  There  is  all  I  have  in  the  world 
—and  with  it  I  will  beat  your  brains  out."  He  whirled 
the  belt  and  money  bag  round  his  head  and  brought  it 
down  with  a  crash  upon  his  adversary,  who  staggered 
back.  The  young  man  struck  at  him  again,  but  in  the 
dark  missed  him,  and  with  the  violence  of  the  blow  and 
weight  of  the  purse  was  carried  forward,  and  on  the  slip- 
pery inclined  planks  fell. 

"  Now  I  have  you,"  shouted  the  other;  he  flung  himself 
on  the  prostrate  man  and  planted  his  knee  on  his  back. 
But,  assisted  by  the  inclination  of  the  deck,  the  young 
man  slipped  from  beneath  his  antagonist,  and  half -rising 
caught  him  and  dashed  him  against  the  rail. 

The  wrecker  was  staggered  for  a  moment,  and  had  the 
passenger  seized  the  occasion  he  might  have  finished  the 
conflict ;  but  his  purse  had  slipped  from  his  hand,  and  he 
groped  for  the  belt  till  he  found  one  end  at  his  feet,  and 
now  he  twisted  the  belt  round  and  about  his  right  arm 
and  weighted  his  fist  with  the  pouch. 

The  captain  recovered  from  the  blow,  and  flung  himself 
on  his  adversary,  grasped  his  arms  between  the  shoulder 
and  elbow,  and  bore  him  back  against  the  bulwark,  drove 
him  against  it,  and  cast  himself  upon  him. 

"  I've  spared  your  life  so  far.  Now  I'll  spare  you  no 
more,"  said  he,  and  the  young  man  felt  one  of  his  arms 
released.  He  could  not  tell  at  the  time,  he  never  could 
decide  after  how  he  knew  it,  but  he  was  certain  that  his 
enemy  was  groping  at  his  side  for  his  knife.  Then  the 
hand  of  the  wrecker  closed  on  his  throat,  and  the  young 
man's  head  was  driven  back  over  the  rail,  almost  dislo- 
cating the  neck. 

It  was  then  as  though  the  young  man  saw  into  the 
mind  of  him  who  had  cast  himself  against  him,  and  who 
was  strangling  him.  He  knew  that  he  could  not  find  his 
knife,  but  he  saw  nothing,  only  a  fire  and  blood  before  his 


274  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

eyes  that  looked  tip  into  the  black  heavens,  and  he  felt 
naught  save  agony  at  the  nape  of  his  neck,  where  his 
spine  was  turned  back  on  the  bulwarks. 

"  Number  Seven !  any  of  you  !  an  axe !  "  roared  the 
wrecker.  "  By  heaven  you  shall  be  as  "Wyvill !  and  float 
headless  on  the  waves." 

"  Coppinger  !  "  cried  the  young  man,  by  a  desperate  ef- 
fort liberating  his  hand.  He  threw  his  arms  round  the 
wrecker.  A  clash  and  a  boil  of  froth,  and  both  went  over- 
board, fighting  as  they  fell  into  the  surf. 

"  In  the  King's  name  !  "  shouted  a  harsh  voice. 

"  Surround — secure  them  all.  Now  we  have  them  and 
they  shall  not  escape." 

The  wreck  was  boarded  by,  and  in  the  hands  of,  the 
coast-guard. 


CHAPTEK  XXXYII. 

BKUISED  NOT  BROKEN. 

"  Come  with  me,  uncle  !  "  said  Judith. 

"  My  dear,  I  will  follow  you  like  a  dog",  everywhere." 

"  I  want  to  go  to  the  rectory." 

"  To  the  rectory  !     At  this  time  of  night  1 " 

"  At  once." 

When  the  down  was  left  there  was  no  longer  necessity 
for  hiding"  the  lantern,  as  they  were  within  lanes,  and 
the  light  would  not  be  seen  at  sea. 

The  distance  to  the  parsonage  was  not  great,  and  the 
little  party  were  soon  there,  but  were  somewhat  puzzled 
how  to  find  the  door,  owing  to  the  radical  transforma- 
tions of  the  approaches  effected  by  the  new  rector. 

Mr.  Desiderius  Mules  was  not  in  bed.  He  was  in  his 
study,  without  his  collar  and  necktie,  smoking,  and  com- 
posing a  sermon.  It  is  not  only  lucus  which  is  derived 
from  non  lucend').  A  study  in  many  a  house  is  equally 
misnamed.  In  that  of  Mr.  Mules's  house  it  had  some 
claim,  perhaps,  to  its  title,  for  in  it,  once  a  week,  Mr. 
Desiderius  cudgelled  his  brains  how  to  impart  form  to 
an  inchoate  mass  of  notes ;  but  it  hardly  deserved  its 
name  as  a  place  where  the  brain  was  exercised  in  ab- 
sorption of  information.  The  present  study  was  the  old 
pantry.  The  old  study  had  been  occupied  by  a  man  of 
reading  and  of  thought.  Perhaps  it  was  not  unsuitable 
that  the  pantry  should  become  Mr.  Mules's  study,  and 
where  the  maid  had  emptied  her  slop-water  after  clean- 
ing forks  and  plates  should  be  the  place  for  the  making 
of  the  theological  slop -water  that  was  to  be  poured  forth 
on  the  Sunday.  But — what  a  word  has  been  here  used — 
theological — another  lucus  a  non  lucendo,  for  there  was 
nothing  of  theology  proper  in  the  stuff  compounded  by 
Mr.  Mules. 

We  shall  best  be  able  to  judge  by  observing  him  en- 
gaged on  his  sermon  for  Sunday. 


276  IN  THE  ROAR   OF   THE  SEA. 

In  liis  mouth  was  a  pipe,  on  the  table  a  jar  of  bird's- 
eye  ;  item,  a  tumbler  of  weak  brandy  and  water  to  moisten 
his  lips  with  occasionally.  It  was  weak.  Mr.  Mules 
never  took  a  drop  more  than  was  good  for  him. 

Before  him  were  arranged  in  a  circle  his  materials  for 
composition.  On  his  extreme  left  was  what  he  termed 
his  treacle-pot.  That  was  a  volume  of  unctuous  piety. 
Then  came  his  dish  of  flummery.  That  was  a  volume  of 
ornate  discourses  by  a  crack  ladies'  preacher.  Next  his 
spice-box.  That  was  a  little  store  of  anecdotes,  illustra- 
tions, and  pungent  sayings.  Pearson  on  the  Creed, 
Bishop  Andrews,  or  any  work  of  solid  divinity  was  not 
to  be  found  either  on  his  table  or  on  his  shelves.  A 
Commentary  was  outspread,  and  a  Concordance. 

The  Keverend  Desiderius  Mules  sipped  his  brandy 
and  water,  took  a  long  whiff  of  his  pipe,  and  then  wrote 
his  text.  Then  he  turned  to  his  Commentary  and  ex- 
tracted from  it  junks  of  moralization  upon  his  text  and 
on  other  texts  which  his  Concordance  told  him  had  more 
or  less  to  do  with  his  head  text.  Then  he  peppered 
his  paper  well  over  with  quotations,  those  in  six  lines 
preferred  to  those  in  three. 

"  Now,"  said  the  manufacturer  of  the  sermon,  "  I  must 
have  a  little  treacle.  I  suppose  those  bumpkins  will 
like  it,  but  not  much,  I  hate  it  myself.  It  is  ridiculous. 
And  I  can  dish  up  a  trifle  of  flummery  in  here  and  there 
conveniently,  and — let  nie  see.  I'll  work  up  to  a  story 
near  the  tail  somehow.  But  what  heading  shall  I  give 
my  discourse  ?  'Pon  my  word  I  don't  know  what  its 
subject  is — we'll  call  it  General  Piety.  That  will  do  ad- 
mirably. Yes,  General  Piety.  Come  in  !  Who's  there  ?  " 

A  servant  entered  and  said  that  there  were  Mr.  Men- 
aida  and  the  lady  that  was  married  that  morning,  at  the 
door,  wanting  to  speak  with  him.  Should  she  show  them 
into  the  study  1 

Mr.  Mules  looked  at  his  brandy  and  water,  then  at  his 
array  of  material  for  composition,  and  then  at  his  neck- 
erchief on  the  floor,  and  said :  "  No,  into  the  drawing- 
room."  The  maid  was  to  light  the  candles.  He  would 
put  on  his  collar  and  be  with  them  shortly. 

So  the  sermon  had  to  be  laid  aside. 

Presently  Mr.  Desiderius  Mules  entered  his  drawing- 
room,  where  Judith,  Uncle  Zachie,  and  Jamie  were 
awaiting  him. 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  277 

"  A  late  visit,  but  always  welcome,"  said  the  rector. 
"  Sony  I  kept  you  waiting-,  but  I  was  en  deshabille.  "What 
can  I  do  for  you  now,  oh  ?  " 

Judith  was  composed,  she  had  formed  her  resolution. 

She  said,  "  You  married  me  this  morning'  when  I  was 
unconscious.  I  answered  but  one  of  your  questions. 
Will  you  get  your  prayer-book  and  I  will  make  my  re- 
sponses to  all  those  questions  you  put  to  me  when  I  was 
in  a  dead  faint." 

"  Oh,  not  necessary.  Sign  the  register  and  it  is  all 
right.  Silence  gives  consent,  you  know." 

"  I  wish  it  otherwise,  particularly,  and  then  you  can 
judg-e  for  yourself  whether  silence  gives  consent." 

Mr.  Desiderius  Mules  ran  back  into  his  study,  pulled 
a  whiff  at  his  pipe  to  prevent  the  fire  from  going-  out, 
moistened  his  untempered  clay  with  brandy  and  water, 
and  came  back  again  with  a  Book  of  Common  Prayer. 

"  Here  we  are,"  said  he.  "  '  Wilt  thou  have  this  man/ 
and  so  on — you  answered  to  that,  I  believe.  Then  comes 
'  I,  Judith,  take  thee,  Curll,  to  my  wedded  husband ' — 
you  were  indistinct  over  that,  I  believe." 

"  I  remember  nothing-  about  it.  Now  I  will  say  dis- 
tinctly my  meaning-.  I  will  not  take  Curll  Coppinger  to 
my  wedded  husband,  and  thereto  I  will  never  give  my 
troth — so  help  me,  God." 

"  Goodness  gracious !  "  exclaimed  the  rector.  "  You 
put  me  in  a  queer  position.  I  married  you,  and  you 
can't  undo  what  is  done.  You  have  the  ring  on  your 
fing-er." 

"  No,  here  it  is.     I  return  it." 

"  I  refuse  to  take  it.  I  have  nothing  whatever  to  do 
with  the  ring.  Captain  Coppinger  put  it  on  your  hand." 

"  When  I  was  unconscious." 

"  But  am  I  to  be  choused  out  of  my  fee — as  out  of 
other  thing's  ?  " 

"  You  shall  have  your  fee.  Do  not  concern  yourself 
about  that.  I  refuse  to  consider  myself  married.  I  re- 
fuse to  sign  the  register,  no  man  shall  force  me  to  it,  and 
if  it  comes  to  law,  here  are  witnesses,  you  yourself  are  a 
witness,  that  I  was  unconscious  when  you  married  me." 

"I  shall  get  into  trouble!  This  is  a  very  unpleasant 
state  of  affairs." 

"  It  is  more  unpleasant  for  me  than  for  you,"  said 
Judith. 


278  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

"  It  is  a  most  awkward  complication.  Never  heard  of 
such  a  case  before.  Don't  you  think  that  after  a  good 
night's  rest  and  a  good  supper — and  let  me  advise  a  stiff 
glass  of  something  warm,  taken  medicinally,  you  under- 
stand— that  you  will  come  round  to  a  better  mind." 

"  To  another  mind  I  shall  not  come  round.  I  suppose 
I  am  half  married — never  by  my  will  shall  that  half  be 
made  into  a  whole." 

"  And  what  do  you  want  me  to  do  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Mules, 
thoroughly  put  out  of  his  self-possession  by  this  extraor- 
dinary scene. 

"  Nothing,"  answered  Judiah,  "  save  to  bear  testimony 
that  I  utterly  and  entirely  refuse  to  complete  the  mar- 
riage which  was  half  done — by  answering  to  those  ques- 
tions with  a  consent,  which  I  failed  to  answer  in  church 
because  I  fainted,  and  to  wear  the  ring  which  was  forced 
on  me  when  I  was  insensible,  and  to  sign  the  register 
now  I  am  in  full  possession  of  my  wits.  We  will  detain 
you  no  longer." 

Judith  left  along  with  Jamie  and  Mr.  Menaida,  and 
Mr.  Mules  returned  to  his  sermon.  He  pulled  at  his 
pipe  till  the  almost  expired  fire  was  rekindled  into  glow, 
and  he  mixed  himself  a  little  more  brandy  and  water. 
Then  with  his  pipe  in  the  corner  of  his  mouth  he  looked 
at  his  discourse.  It  did  not  quite  please  him,  it  was  un- 
digested. 

"  Dear  me !  "  said  Mr.  Desiderius.  "  My  mind  is  all 
of  a  whirl,  and  I  can  do  nothing  to  this  now.  It  must 
go  as  it  is  —  yet  stay,  I'll  change  the  title.  General 
Piety  is  rather  pointless.  I'll  call  it  Practical  Piety." 

Judith  returned  to  Pentyre  Glaze.  She  was  satisfied 
with  what  she  had  done ;  anger  and  indignation  were  in 
her  heart.  The  man  to  whom  she  had  given  her  hand 
had  enlisted  her  poor  brother  in  the  wicked  work  of  lur- 
ing unfortunate  sailors  to  their  destruction.  She  could 
hardly  conceive  of  anything  more  diabolical  than  this 
form  of  wrecking:  her  Jamie  was  involved  in  the  crime 
of  drawing  men  to  their  death.  A  ship  had  been  wrecked, 
she  knew  that  by  the  minute  guns,  and  if  lives  were  lost 
from  it,  the  guilt  in  a  measure  rested  on  the  head  of 
Jamie.  But  for  her  intervention  he  would  have  been 
taken  in  the  act  of  showing  light  to  mislead  mariners, 
and  would  certainly  have  been  brought  before  magistrates 
and  most  probably  have  been  imprisoned.  The  thought 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  279 

that  her  brother,  the  son  of  such  a  father,  should  have 
escaped  this  disgrace  through  an  accident  only,  and  that 
he  had  been  subjected  to  the  risk  by  Coppinger,  filled 
her  veins  with  liquid  fire.  Thenceforth  there  could  be 
nothing  between  her  and  Captain  Cruel,  save  antipathy, 
resentment,  and  contempt  on  her  part.  His  passion  for 
her  must  cool  or  chase  itself  away.  She  would  never 
yield  to  him  a  hair's  breadth. 

Judith  threw  herself  on  her  bed,  in  her  clothes.  She 
could  not  sleep.  Wrath  against  Coppinger  seethed  in 
her  young  heart.  Concerned  she  was  for  the  wrecked, 
but  concern  for  them  was  over-lapped  by  fiery  indigna- 
tion against  the  wrecker.  There  was  also  in  her  breast 
self-reproach.  She  had  not  accepted  as  final  her  father's 
judgment  on  the  man.  She  had  allowed  Coppinger's 
admiration  of  herself  to  move  her  from  a  position  of  un- 
compromising hostility,  and  to  aAvake  in  her  suspicions 
that  her  dear,  dear  father  might  have  been  mistaken, 
and  that  the  man  he  condemned  might  not  be  guilty  as 
he  supposed. 

As  she  lay  tossing  on  her  bed,  turning  from  side  to 
side,  her  face  now  flaming,  then  white,  she  heard  a  noise 
in  the  house.  She  sat  up  on  her  bed  and  listened. 
There  was  now  no  light  in  the  room,  and  she-  would  not 
go  into  that  of  her  aunt  to  borrow  one.  Miss  Trevisa 
might  be  asleep,  and  would  be  vexed  to  be  disturbed. 
Moreover  resentment  against  her  aunt  for  having  forced 
her  into  the  marriage  was  strong  in  the  girl's  heart,  and 
she  had  no  wish  to  enter  into  any  communications  with 
her. 

So  she  sat  on  her  bed,  listening. 

There  was  certainly  disturbance  below.  "What  was  the 
meaning  of  it  ? 

Presently  she  heard  her  aunt's  voice  down-stairs.  She 
was  therefore  not  asleep  in  her  room. 

Thereupon  Judith  descended  the  stairs  to  the  hall. 
There  she  found  Captain  Coppinger  being  carried  to  his 
bedroom  by  two  men,  while  Miss  Trevisa  held  a  light. 
He  was  streaming  with  water  that  made  pools  on  the 
floor. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  Is  he  hurt  ?  Is  he  hurt  seri- 
ously ? "  she  asked,  her  woman's  sympathy  at  once 
aroused  by  the  sight  of  suffering. 

"  He  has  had  a  bad  fall,"  replied  her  aunt.     "  He  went 


280  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

to  a  wreck  that  lias  been  cast  on  Doom  Bar,  to  help  to 
save  the  unfortunate,  and  save  what  they  value  equally 
with  their  lives — their  goods,  and  he  was  washed  over- 
board. Fell  into  the  sea,  and  was  dashed  against  that 
boat.  Yes — he  is  injured.  No  bones  broken  ihis  time. 
This  time  he  had  to  do  with  the  sea  and  with  men.  But 
he  is  badly  bruised.  Go  on,"  she  said  to  those  who  were 
conveying1  Coppinger.  "  He  is  in  pain,  do  you  not  see 
this  as  you  stand  here  ?  Lay  him  on  his  bed,  and  re- 
move his  clothes.  He  is  drenched  to  the  skin.  I  will 
brew  him  a  posset." 

"  May  I  help  you,  aunt  ?  " 

"  I  can  do  it  myself." 

Judith  remained  with  Miss  Trevisa.  She  said  nothing 
to  her  till  the  posset  was  ready.  Then  she  offered  to 
carry  it  to  her  husband. 

"  As  you  will — here  it  is,"  said  Aunt  Dionysia. 

Thereupon  Judith  took  the  draught,  and  went  with  it 
to  Captain  Coppinger's  room.  He  was  in  his  bed.  No 
one  was  with  him,  but  a  candle  burned  on  the  table. 

"  You  have  come  to  me,  Judith  ?  "  he  said  with  glad 
surprise. 

"  Yes — I  have  brought  you  the  posset.  Drink  it  out 
to  the  last  drop." 

She  handed  it  to  him ;  and  he  took  the  hot  caudle. 

"  I  need  not  finish  the  bowl  1 "  he  asked. 

"Yes— to  the  last  drop." 

He  complied,  and  then  suddenly  withdrew  the  vessel 
from  his  lips.  "  What  is  this — at  the  bottom  I—a,  ring  ?  " 
He  extracted  a  plain  gold  ring  from  the  bowl. 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  this?  It  is  a  wedding- 
ring." 

:<  Yes — mine." 

"  It  is  early  to  lose  it." 

"  I  threw  it  in." 

"  You—  Judith— why  ?  " 

"  I  return  it  to  you." 

He  raised  himself  on  one  elbow  and  looked  at  her  fix- 
edly with  threatening  eyes. 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ? " 

"  That  ring  was  put  on  my  finger  when  I  was  uncon- 
scious. Wait  till  I  accept  it  freely." 

"  But — Judith — the  wedding  is  over." 

"Only  a  half  wedding." 


IN   THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  281 

"  Well — well — it  shall  soon  be  a  whole  one.  We  will 
have  the  register  signed  to-morrow." 

Judith  shook  her  head. 

"  You  are  acting*  strangely  to-night,"  said  he. 

"  Answer  me,"  said  Judith.  "  Did  you  not  send  out 
Jamie  with  a  light  to  mislead  the  sailors,  and  draw  them 
on  to  Doom  Bar  ?  " 

"  Jamie,  again !  "  exclaimed  Coppinger,  impatiently. 

"  Yes,  I  have  to  consider  for  Jamie.  Answer  me,  did 
you  not  send  him — 

He  burst  in  angrily,  "  If  you  will — yes — he  took  the 
light  to  the  shore.  I  knew  there  was  a  wreck.  When 
a  ship  is  in  distress  she  must  have  a  light." 

"  You  are  not  speaking  the  truth.  Answer  me,  did 
you  go  on  board  the  wrecked  vessel  to  save  those  who 
were  cast  away  ?  " 

"  They  would  not  have  been  saved  without  me.  They 
had  lost  their  heads — every  one." 

"  Captain  Coppinger,"  said  Judith,  "  I  have  lost  all 
trust  in  you.  I  return  you  the  ring-  which  I  will  never 
wear.  I  have  been  to  see  the  rector  and  told  him  that  I 
refuse  you,  and  I  will  never  sign  the  register." 

"  I  will  force  the  ring  011  to  your  finger,"  said  Cop- 
pinger. 

"  You  are  a  man,  stronger  than  I — but  I  can  defend 
myself,  as  you  know  to  your  cost.  Half  married  we  are 
— and  so  must  remain,  and  never,  never  shall  we  be  more 
than  that." 

Then  she  left  the  room,  and  Coppinger  dashed  his 
posset  cup  to  the  ground,  but  held  the  ring"  and  turned 
it  in  his  fingers,  and  the  light  flickered  on  it,  a  red  gold 
ring-  like  that  red  gold  hair  that  was  about  his  throat. 


CHAPTEE  XXXVIII. 

A  CHANGE   OF  WIND. 

After  many  years  of  separation,  father  and  son  were 
tog-ether  once  more.  Early  in  the  morning-  after  the 
wreck  in  Dover  Bar,  Oliver  Menaicla  appeared  at  his 
father's  cottage,  bruised  and  wet  through,  but  in  health 
and  with  his  purse  in  his  hand. 

When  he  had  gone  overboard  with  the  wrecker,  the 
tide  was  falling-  and  he  had  been  left  on  the  sands  of  the 
Bar,  where  he  had  spent  a  cold  and  miserable  night,  with 
only  the  satisfaction  to  warm  him  that  his  life  and  his 
money  were  his.  He  was  not  floating-,  like  Wyvill,  a 
headless  trunk,  nor  was  he  without  his  pouch  that  con- 
tained his  gold  and  valuable  papers. 

Mr.  Menaida  was  roused  from  sleep  very  early  to  admit 
Oliver.  The  young-  man  had  recognized  where  he  was, 
as  soon  as  sufficient  light  was  in  the  sky,  and  he  had 
been  carried  across  the  estuary  of  the  Camel  by  one  of 
the  boats  that  was  engaged  in  clearing  the  wrreck,  under 
the  direction  of  the  captain  of  the  coast-guard.  But 
three  men  had  been  arrested  on  the  wrecked  vessel,  three 
of  those  who  had  boarded  her  for  plunder,  all  the  rest 
had  effected  their  escape,  and  it  was  questionable  whether 
these  three  could  be  brought  to  justice,  as  they  protested 
they  had  come  from  shore  as  salvers.  They  had  heard 
the  signals  of  distress  and  had  put  off  to  do  what  they 
could  for  those  who  were  in  jeopardy.  No  law  forbad 
men  coming  to  the  assistance  of  the  wrecked.  It  could 
not  be  proved  that  they  had  laid  their  hands  on  and  kept 
for  their  own  use  any  of  the  goods  of  the  passengers  or 
any  of  the  cargo  of  the  vessel.  It  was  true  that  from 
some  of  the  women  their  purses  had  been  exacted,  but 
the  men  taken  professed  their  innocence  of  having  done 
this,  and  the  man  who  had  made  the  demand — there  was 
but  one — had  disappeared.  Unhappily  he  had  not  been 
secured. 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  283 

It  was  a  question  also  whether  proceedings  could  be 
taken  relative  to  the  exhibition  of  lights  that  had  mis- 
guided the  merchantman.  The  coast-guard  had  come  on 
Mr.  Menaida  and  Judith  on  the  downs  with  a  light,  but 
he  was  conducting  her  to  her  new  house,  and  there  could 
be  entertained  against  them  no  suspicion  of  having  acted 
with  evil  intent. 

"  Do  you  know,  father,"  said  Oliver,  after  he  was  rested, 
had  slept  and  fed,  "  I  am  pretty  sure  that  the  scoundrel 
who  attacked  me  was  Captain  Coppinger.  I  cannot 
swear.  It  is  many  years  now  since  I  heard  his  voice,  and 
when  I  did  hear  it,  it  was  but  very  occasionally.  "What 
made  me  suspect  at  the  time  that  I  was  struggling  with 
Captain  Cruel  was  that  he  had  my  head  back  over  the 
gunwale  and  called  for  an  axe,  swearing  that  he  would 
treat  me  like  Wy vill.  That  story  was  new  when  I  left 
home,  and  folk  said  that  Coppinger  had  killed  the  man." 

Mr.  Menaida  fidgeted. 

"  That  was  the  man  who  was  at  the  head  of  the  entire 
gang.  He  it  was  who  issued  the  orders  which  the  rest 
obeyed ;  and  he,  moreover,  was  the  man  Avho  required 
the  passengers  to  deliver  up  their  purses  and  valuables 
before  he  allowed  them  to  enter  the  boat." 

"  Between  ourselves,"  said  Uncle  Zachie,  rubbing  his 
chin  and  screwing  up  his  mouth,  "between  you  and  me 
and  the  poker,  I  have  no  doubt  about  it,  and  I  could 
bring  his  neck  into  the  halter  if  I  chose." 

"  Then  why  do  you  not,  father  ?  The  ruffian  would  not 
have  scrupled  to  hack  off  my  head  had  an  axe  been  handy, 
or  had  I  waited  till  he  had  got  hold  of  one." 

Mr.  Menaida  shook  his  head. 

"  There  are  a  deal  of  things  that  belong  to  all  things," 
he  said.  "  I  was  on  the  down  with  my  little  pet  and  idol, 
Judith,  and  we  had  the  lantern,  and  it  was  that  lantern 
that  proved  fatal  to  your  vessel." 

"  What,  father !     We  owe  our  wreck  to  you  ?  " 

"  No,  and  yet  it  must  be  suffered  to  be  so  supposed,  I 
must  allow  many  hard  words  to  be  rapped  out  against  me, 
my  want  of  consideration,  my  scatterbrainedness.  I  ad- 
mit that  I  am  not  a  Solomon,  but  I  should  not  be  such  an 
ass,  such  a  criminal,  as  on  a  night  like  the  last  to  walk 
over  the  downs  above  the  cliffs  with  a  lantern.  Neverthe- 
less I  cannot  clear  myself." 

"Why  not?" 


284:  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

'  Because  of  Judith." 

'I  do  not  understand." 

'  I  was  escorting  her  home,  to  her  husband's — 

'  Is  she  married  ?  " 

'  Ton  my  word,  I  can't  say ;  half  and  half " 

'I  do  not  understand  you." 

'  I  will  explain,  later,"  said  Mr.  Menaida.  "  It's  a  per- 
plexing- question,  and  though  I  was  brought  up  at  the 
law,  upon  my  word  I  can't  say  how  the  law  would  stand 
in  the  matter." 

"  But  how  about  the  false  lights  ?  " 

"  I  am  coming-  to  that.  When  the  Preventive  men  came 
on  us,  led  by  Scantlebray — and  why  he  was  with  them, 
and  what  concern  it  was  of  his,  I  don't  know — when  the 
guard  found  us,  it  is  true  Judith  had  the  lantern,  but  it 
was  under  her  cloak." 

"  We,  however,  saw  the  light  for  some  time." 

"  Yes,  but  neither  she  nor  I  showed  it.  We  had  not 
brought  a  light  with  us.  We  knew  that  it  would  be  wrong 
to  do  so,  but  we  came  on  someone  driving  an  ass  with  a 
lantern  affixed  to  the  head  of  the  brute." 

"  Then  say  so." 

"  I  cannot — that  person  was  Judith's  brother." 

"  But  he  is  an  idiot." 

"  He  was  sent  out  with  the  light." 

"  Well,  then,  that  person  who  sent  him  will  be  pun- 
ished and  the  silly  boy  will  come  off  scot  free." 

"I  cannot — he  who  sent  the  boy  was  Judith's  hus- 
band." 

"  Judith's  husband  !     Who  is  that  ?  " 

"  Captain  Coppinger." 

""Well,  what  of  that?  The  man  is  a  double-dyed  vil- 
lain. He  ought  to  be  brought  to  justice.  Consider  the 
crimes  of  which  he  has  been  guilty.  Consider  what  he 
has  done  this  past  night.  I  cannot  see,  father,  that  mere- 
ly because  you  esteem  a  young  person,  who  may  be  very 
estimable,  we  should  let  a  consummate  scoundrel  go  free, 
solely  because  he  is  her  husband.  He  has  brought  a  fine 
ship  to  wreck,  he  has  produced  much  wretchedness  and 
alarm.  Indeed,  he  has  been  the  occasion  of  some  lives 
being  lost,  for  one  or  two  of  the  sailors,  thinking  we  were 
going  to  Davy  Jones's  locker,  got  drunk  and  were  car- 
ried overboard.  Then,  consider,  he  robbed  some  of  the 
unhappy,  frightened  women  as  they  were  escaping. 


J2V  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  285 

Bless  me ! "  Oliver  sprang-  up  and  paced  the  room.  "  It 
makes  my  blood  seethe.  The  fellow  deserves  no  con- 
sideration. Give  him  up  to  justice;  let  him  be  hung  or 
transported." 

Mr.  Menaida  passed  his  hand  through  his  hair,  and  lit 
his  pipe. 

"  Ton  my  word,"  said  he,  "  there's  a  good  deal  to  be 
said  011  your  side — and  yet— 

"  There  is  everything  to  be  said  on  my  side,"  urged 
Oliver,  with  vehemence.  "  The  man  is  engaged  on  his 
nefarious  traffic.  Winter  is  setting  in.  He  will  wreck 
other  vessels  as  well,  and  if  you  spare  him  now,  then  the 
guilt  of  causing  the  destruction  of  other  vessels  and  the 
loss  of  more  lives  will  rest  in  a  measure  on  you." 

"  And  yet,"  pleaded  Menaida,  senior,  "  I  don't  know — 
I  don't  like — you  see— 

"  You  are  moved  by  a  little  sentiment  for  Miss  Judith 
Travisa,  or — I  beg  her  pardon — Mrs.  Cruel  Coppinger. 
But  it  is  a  mistake,  father.  If  you  had  had  this  senti- 
mental regard  for  her,  and  value  for  her,  you  should  not 
have  suffered  her  to  marry  such  a  scoundrel,  jiast  re- 
demption." 

"  I  could  not  help  it.  I  told  her  that  the  man  was 
bad — that  is  to  say — I  believed  he  was  a  smuggler,  and 
that  he  was  generally  credited  with  being'  a  wrecker  as 
well.  But  there  were  other  influences — other  forces  at 
work — I  could  not  help  it." 

"  The  sooner  we  can  rid  her  of  this  villain  the  bet- 
ter," persisted  Oliver.  "  I  cannot  share  your  scruples, 
father." 

Then  the  door  opened  and  Judith  entered. 

Oliver  stood  up.  He  had  reseated  himself  on  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  fire  to  his  father,  after  the  ebullition 
of  wrath  that  had  made  him  pace  the  room. 

He  saw  before  him  a  delicate,  girlish  figure — a  child 
in  size  and  in  innocence  of  face,  but  with  a  woman's 
force  of  character  in  the  brow,  clear  eyes,  and  set  mouth. 
She  was  ivory  white ;  her  golden  hair  was  spread  out 
about  her  face — blown  by  the  wind,  it  was  a  veritable 
halo,  such  as  is  worn  by  an  angel  of  La  Fiesole  in  Cima- 
bue.  Her  long,  slender,  white  throat  was  bare ;  she  had 
short  sleeves,  to  the  elbows,  and  bare  arms.  Her  stock- 
ings were  white,  under  the  dark-blue  gown.  Oliver 
Menaida  had  spent  a  good  many  years  in  Portugal,  and 


286  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

had  seen  flat  faces,  sallow  complexions,  and  dark  hair — 
women  without  delicacy  of  bone  and  ^grace  of  figure — 
and,  on  his  return  to  England,  the  first  woman  he  saw 
was  Judith — this  little,  pale,  red-gold-headed  creature, 
with  eyes  iridescent  and  full  of  a  soul  that  made  them 
sparkle  and  change  color  with  every  change  of  emotion 
in  the  heart  and  of  thought  in  the  busy  brain. 

Oliver  was  a  fine  man,  tall,  with  a  bright  and  honest 
face,  fair  hair,  and  blue  eyes.  He  started  back  from  his 
seat  and  looked  at  this  child-bride  who  entered  his 
father's  cottage.  He  knew  at  once  who  she  was,  from 
the  descriptions  he  had  received  of  her  from  his  father 
in  letters  from  home. 

He  did  not  understand  how  she  had  become  the  wife 
of  Cruel  Coppinger.  He  had  not  heard  the  story  from 
his  father,  still  less  could  he  comprehend  the  enigmati- 
cal words  of  his  father  relative  to  her  half-and-half  mar- 
riag-e.  As  now  he  looked  011  this  little  figure,  that 
breathed  an  atmosphere  of  perfect  purity,  of  untouched 
innocence,  and  yet  not  mixed  with  that  weakness  which 
so  often  characterizes  innocence — on  the  contrary  blend- 
ed with  a  strength  and  force  beyond  her  years — Oliver's 
heart  rose  with  a  bound  and  smote  ag-ainst  his  ribs.  He 
was  overcome  with  a  qualm  of  infinite  pity  for  this  poor, 
little,  fragile  being-,  whose  life  was  linked  with  that  of 
one  so  ruthless  as  Coppinger.  Looking  at  that  anxious 
face,  at  those  lustrous  eyes,  set  in  lids  that  were  red- 
dened with  weeping-,  he  knew  that  the  iron  had  entered 
into  her  soul,  that  she  had  suffered  and  was  suffer- 
ing- then ;  nay,  more,  that  the  life  opening  before  her 
would  be  one  of  almost  unrelieved  contrariety  and  sor- 
row. 

At  once  he  understood  his  father's  hesitation  when  he 
urg-ed  him  to  increase  the  load  of  shame  and  trouble 
that  lay  on  her.  He  could  not  withdraw  his  eyes  from 
Judith.  She  was  to  him  a  vision  so  wonderful,  so 
strang-e,  so  thrilling,  so  full  of  appeal  to  his  admiration 
and  to  his  chivalry. 

"  Here,  Ju !  here  is  my  Oliver,  of  Avhom  I  have  told 
you  so  much ! "  said  Menaida,  running  up  to  Judith. 
"  Oliver,  boy !  she  has  read  your  letters,  and  I  believe 
they  gave  her  almost  as  great  pleasure  as  they  did 
me.  She  was  always  interested  in  you.  I  mean  ever 
since  she  canie  into  my  house,  and  we  have  talked  to- 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  287 

gather  about  you,  and  upon  my  word  it  really  seemed  as 
if  you  were  to  her  as  a  brother." 

A  faint  smile  came  on  Judith's  face  ;  she  held  out  her 
hand  and  said : 

"  Yes,  I  have  come  to  love  your  dear  father,  who  has 
been  to  me  so  kind,  and  to  Jamie  also  ;  he  has  been  full 
of  thought — I  mean  kindness.  What  has  interested  him 
has  interested  me.  I  call  him  uncle,  so  I  will  call  you 
cousin.  May  it  be  so  ?  " 

He  touched  her  hand ;  he  did  not  dare  to  grasp  the 
frail,  slender  white  hand.  But  as  he  touched  it,  there 
boiled  up  in  his  heart  a  rage  against  Coppinger,  that  he 
—this  man  steeped  in  iniquity — should  have  obtained 
possession  of  a  pearl  set  in  ruddy  gold — a  pearl  that  he 
was,  so  thought  Oliver,  incapable  of  appreciating. 

"  How  came  you  here  1 "  asked  Judith.  "  Your  father 
has  been  expecting  you  some  time,  but  not  so  soon." 

"  I  am  come  off  the  wreck." 

She  started  back  and  looked  fixedly  on  him. 

"  What — you  were  wrecked  ? — in  that  ship  last  night  ? " 

"  Yes.  After  the  fog  lifted  we  were  quite  lost  as  to 
where  we  were,  and  ran  aground." 

"  What  led  you  astray  ?  " 

"  Our  own  bewilderment  and  ignorance  as  to  where 
we  were." 

"  And  you  got  ashore  ?  " 

"Yes.  I  was  put  across  by  the  Preventive  men.  I 
spent  half  the  night  on  Doom  Bar." 

"  Were  any  lives  lost  ?  " 

"  Only  those  lost  their  lives  who  threw  them  away. 
Some  tipsy  sailors,  who  got  at  the  spirits,  and  drank 
themselves  drunk." 

"  And — did  any  others — I  mean  did  any  wreckers  come 
to  your  ship  ?  " 

"  Salvors  ?  Yes  ;  salvors  came  to  save  what  could  be 
saved.  That  is  always  so." 

Judith  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief ;  but  she  could  not 
forget  Jamie  and  the  ass. 

"  You  were  not  led  astray  by  false  lights  ?  " 

"  Any  lights  we  might  have  seen  were  sure  to  lead  us 
astray,  as  we  did  not  in  the  least  know  where  we  were." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Judith.  Then  she  turned  to  Uncle 
Zachie. 

"  I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  you." 


288  Z2V  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

"  Anything-  you  ask  I  will  do." 

"  It  is  to  let  Jamie  live  here,  he  is^  more  likely  to  be 
well  employed,  less  likely  to  get  in  wrong  courses,  than 
at  the  Glaze.  Alas !  I  cannot  be  with  him  always  and 
everywhere,  and  I  cannot  trust  him  there.  Here  he  has 
his  occupation  ;  he  can  help  you  with  the  birds.  There 
he  has  nothing,  and  the  men  he  meets  are  not  such  as  I 
desire  that  he  should  associate  with.  Besides,  you  know, 
uncle,  what  occurred  last  night,  and  why  I  am  anxious  to 
g-et  him  away." 

:'  Yes,"  answered  the  old  man ;  "  I'll  do  my  best.  He 
shall  be  welcome  here." 

"Moreover,  Captain  Coppinger  dislikes  him.  He 
might  in  a  fit  of  anger  maltreat  him ;  I  cannot  say 
that  he  ivould,  but  he  makes  no  concealment  of  his  dis- 
like." 

"  Send  Jamie  here." 

"  And  then  I  can  come  every  day  and  see  him,  how  he 
is  g-etting-  on,  and  can  encourage  him  with  his  work,  and 
give  him  his  lessons  as  usual." 

"  It  will  always  be  a  delight  to  me  to  have  you  here." 

"  And  to  me — to  come."  She  might  have  said,  "  to  be 
away  from  Pentyre,"  but  she  refrained  from  saying  that. 
With  a  faint  smile — a  smile  that  was  but  the  twinkle  of 
a  tear — she  held  out  her  hand  to  say  farewell. 

Uncle  Zachie  clasped  it,  and  then,  suddenly,  she  bent 
and  kissed  his  hand. 

"  You  must  not  do  that,"  said  he,  hastily. 

She  looked  piteously  into  his  eyes,  and  said,  in  a 
whisper  that  he  alone  could  hear — "  I  am  so  lonely." 

When  she  was  g-one  the  old  man  returned  to  the  ingle 
nook  and  resumed  his  pipe.  He  did  not  speak,  but 
every  now  and  then  he  put  one  finger  furtively  to  his 
cheek,  wiped  off  something-,  and  drew  very  vigorous 
whiffs  of  tobacco. 

Nor  was  Oliver  inclined  to  speak  ;  he  gazed  dreamily 
into  the  fire,  with  contracted  brows,  and  hands  that  were 
clenched. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  thus  passed.  Then  Oliver  looked 
up  at  his  father,  and  said :  "  There  is  worse  wrecking- 
than  that  of  ships.  Can  nothing-  be  done  for  this  poor 
little  craft,  drifting-  in  fog- — aimless  ! — and  g*oing-  on  to 
the  rocks  ?  " 

Uncle  Zachie  again    wiped   his   cheek,   and   in  his 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  289 

thoughtlessness  wiped  it  with  the  bowl  of  his  pipe  and 
burnt  himself.  He  shook  his  head. 

"  Now  tell  me  what  you  meant  when  you  said  she  was 
but  half  married,"  said  Oliver. 

Then  his  father  related  to  him  the  circumstances  of 
Judith's  forced  engagement,  and  of  the  incomplete  mar- 
riage of  the  day  before. 

"  By  my  soul !  "  exclaimed  Oliver.  "  He  must — he  shall 
not  treat  her  as  he  did  our  vessel." 

"  Oh,  Oliver !  if  I  had  had  my  way — I  had  designed 
her  for  you." 

"  For  me  !  " 

Oliver  bent  his  head  and  looked  hard  into  the  fire, 
where  strange  forms  of  light  were  dancing — dancing  and 
disappearing. 

Then  Mr.  Menaida  said,  between  his  whiffs  :  "  Surely 
a  change  of  wind,  Oliver.  A  little  while  ago,  and  she 
was  not  to  be  considered ;  justice  above  all,  and  Judith 
sacrificed,  if  need  be — now  it  is  Judith  above  all." 

"  Yes,"  musingly,  "  above  all." 


CHAPTEK  XXXIX. 

A  FIRST  LIE. 

As  a  faithful,  as  a  loving-  wife  almost,  did  Judith  at- 
tend to  Coppinger  for  the  day  or  two  before  he  was  him- 
self again.  He  had  been  bruised,  that  was  all.  The 
waves  had  driven  him  against  the  boat,  and  he  had  been 
struck  by  an  oar ;  but  the  very  fact  that  he  was  driven 
against  the  boat  had  proved  his  salvation,  for  he  was 
drawn  on  board,  and  his  own  men  carried  him  swiftly  to 
the  bank,  and,  finding1  him  unable  to  walk,  conveyed  him 
home.  On  reaching  home  a  worse  blow  than  that  of 
the  oar  had  struck  him,  and  struck  him  on  the  heart,  and 
it  was  dealt  him  by  his  wife.  She  bade  him  put  away 
from  him  for  ever  the  expectation,  the  hope,  of  her  be- 
coming his  in  more  than  name. 

Pain  and  disappointment  made  him  irritable.  He 
broke  out  into  angry  complaint,  and  Judith  had  much  to 
endure.  She  did  not  answer  him.  She  had  told  him  her 
purpose,  and  she  would  neither  be  bullied  nor  cajoled  to 
alter  it. 

Judith  had  much  time  to  herself;  she  wandered 
through  the  rooms  of  Pentyre  during-  the  day  without 
encountering  anyone,  and  then  strolled  on  the  cliffs ; 
wherever  she  went  she  carried  her  trouble  with  her, 
gnawing  at  her  heart.  There  was  no  deliverance  for  her, 
and  she  did  not  turn  her  mind  in  that  direction.  She 
would  remain  what  she  was — Cpppinger's  half-wife,  a 
wife  without  a  wedding1- ring,  united  to  him  by  a  most 
dubiously  legal  ceremony.  She  bore  his  name,  she  was 
content  to  do  that ;  she  must  bear  with  his  love  turned 
to  fury  by  disappointment.  She  would  do  that  till  it 
died  away  before  her  firm  and  unchangeable  opposition. 

"  What  will  be  said,"  growled  Coppinger,  "  when  it  is 
seen  that  you  wear  no  ring  ?  " 

"  I  will  wear  my  mother's,  and  turn  the  stone  within," 
answered  Judith,  "  then  it  will  be  like  our  marriage,  a 
semblance,  nothing  more." 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  291 

She  did  appear  next  day  with  a  ring".  When  the  hand 
was  closed,  it  looked  like  a  plain  gold  wedding  hoop. 
When  she  opened  and  turned  her  hand,  it  was  apparent 
that  within  was  a  small  brilliant.  A  modest  ring-,  a  very 
inexpensive  one,  that  her  father  had  given  to  her  mother 
as  a  guard.  Modest  and  inexpensive  because  his  purse 
could  afford  no  better ;  not  because  he  would  not  have 
given  her  the  best  diamonds  available,  had  he  possessed 
the  means  to  purchase  them. 

This  ring  had  been  removed  from  the  dead  finger  of 
her  mother,  and  Mr.  Peter  Trevisa  had  preserved  it  as  a 
present  for  the  daughter. 

Almost  every  day  Judith  went  to  Polzeath  to  give 
lessons  to  Jamie,  and  to  see  how  the  boy  was  going  on. 
Jamie  was  happy  with  Mr.  Menaida,  he  liked  a  little 
desultory  work,  and  Oliver  was  kind  to  him,  took  him 
walks,  and  talked  to  him  of  scenes  in  Portugal. 

Very  often,  indeed,  did  Judith,  when  she  arrived, 
find  Oliver  at  his  father's.  He  would  sometimes  sit 
through  the  lesson,  often  attend  her  back  to  the  gate 
of  Pentyre.  His  conduct  toward  her  was  deferential, 
tinged  with  pity.  She  could  see  in  his  eyes,  read  in  his 
manner  of  address,  that  he  knew  her  story,  and  grieved 
for  her,  and  would  do  anything  he  could  to  release  her 
from  her  place  of  torment,  if  he  knew  how.  But  he 
never  spoke  to  her  of  Coppinger,  never  of  her  marriage, 
and  the  peculiar  features  that  attended  it.  She  often 
ventured  on  the  topic  of  the  wreck,  and  he  saw  that  she 
was  probing  him  to  discover  the  truth  concerning  it, 
but  he  on  no  occasion  allowed  himself  to  say  anything 
that  could  give  her  reason  to  believe  her  husband  was 
the  cause  of  £he  ship  being  lost,  nor  did  he  tell  her  of 
his  own  desperate  conflict  with  the  wrecker  captain  on 
board  the  vessel. 

He  was  a  pleasant  companion,  cheerful  and  entertain- 
ing. Having  been  abroad,  though  not  having  travelled 
Avidely,  he  could  tell  much  about  Portugal,  and  some- 
thing about  Spain.  Judith's  eager  mind  was  greedy 
after  information,  and  it  diverted  her  thoughts  from 
painful  topics  to  hear  and  talk  about  orange  and  lemon 
groves,  the  vineyards,  the  flower-gardens,  the  manners 
and  customs  of  the  people  of  Portugal,  to  see  sketches 
of  interesting  places,  and  of  the  costumes  of  the  peas- 
antry. What  drew  her  to  Oliver  specially  was,  however, 


292  ZZV  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

his  consideration  for  Jamie,  to  whom  he  was  always 
kind,  and  whom  he  was  disposed  to  amuse. 

The  wreck  of  the  merchantman  on  Doom  Bar  had 
caused  a  great  commotion  among-  the  inhabitants  of  Corn- 
wall. All  the  gentry,  clergy,  and  the  farmers  and  yeomen 
not  immediately  on  the  coast,  felt  that  wrecking1  was  not 
only  a  monstrous  act  of  inhumanity,  but  was  a  scandal 
to  the  county,  and  ought  to  be  peremptorily  suppressed, 
and  those  guilty  of  it  brought  to  justice.  It  was  current- 
ly reported  that  the  merchantman  from  Oporto  was 
wilfully  wrecked,  and  that  an  attempt  had  been  made  to 
rob  and  plunder  the  passengers  and  the  vessel.  But  the 
evidence  in  support  of  this  view  was  of  little  force.  The 
only  persons  who  had  been  found  with  a  light  on  the 
cliffs  were  Mr.  Menaida,  whom  every  one  respected  for 
his  integrity,  and  Judith,  the  daughter  of  the  late  rector 
of  St.  Enodoc,  the  most  strenuous  and  uncompromising 
denouncer  of  wrecking.  No  one,  however  malicious, 
could  believe  either  to  be  guilty  of  more  than  impru- 
dence. 

The  evidence  as  to  the  attempt  of  wreckers  to  invade 
the  ship,  and  plunder  ifc  and  the  passengers  also  broke 
down.  One  lady  alone  could  swear  that  her  purse  had 
been  forcibly  taken  from  her.  The  Portuguese  men 
could  hardly  understand  English,  and  though  she  as- 
serted that  she  had  been  asked  for  money,  she  could 
not  say  that  anything  had  been  taken  from  her.  It  was 
quite  possible  that  she  had  misunderstood  an  order 
given  her  to  descend  into  the  boat. 

The  night  had  been  dark,  the  lady  who  had  been 
robbed  could  not  swear  to  the  identity  of  the  man  who 
had  taken  her  purse,  she  could  not  even  say  that  it  was 
one  of  those  who  had  come  to  the  vessel,  and  was  not  one 
of  the  crew.  The  crew  had  behaved  notoriously  badly, 
some  had  been  drunk,  and  it  was  possible  that  one  of 
these  fellows,  flushed  with  spirits,  had  demanded  and 
taken  her  money. 

There  were  two  or  three  St.  Enodoc  men  arrested  be- 
cause found  on  the  ship  at  the  time,  but  they  persisted 
in  the  declaration  that,  hearing  signals  of  distress,  they 
had  kindled  a  light  and  set  it  in  the  tower  window  of  the 
church  as  a  guide  to  the  ship -wrecked,  and  had  gone  to 
the  vessel  aground  on  Doom  Bar,  with  the  intention  of 
offering  every  assistance  in  their  power  to  the  castaways. 


IN  THE  EOAR  OF  THE  SEA.  293 

They  asserted  that  they  had  found  the  deck  in  confusion. 
The  seamen  drunk  and  lost  to  discipline,  the  passengers 
helpless  and  frightened,  and  that  it  was  only  owing  to 
them  that  some  sort  of  order  was  brought  about,  or  at- 
tempted. The  arrival  of  the  coastguard  interfered  with 
their  efforts  to  be  useful. 

The  magistrates  were  constrained  to  dismiss  the  case, 
although  possessed  with  the  moral  conviction  that  the 
matter  was  not  as  the  accused  -represented.  The  only 
person  who  "could  have  given  evidence  that  might  have 
consigned  them  to  prison  was  Oliver,  and  he  was  not 
called  upon  to  give  witness. 

But,  although  the  case  had  broken  down  completely, 
an  uneasy  and  angry  feeling  prevailed.  People  were  not 
convinced  that  the  wreck  was  accidental,  and  they  be- 
lieved that  but  for  the  arrival  of  the  guard,  the  passen- 
gers would  have  been  robbed  and  the  ship  looted.  It 
was  true  enough  that  a  light  had  been  exhibited  from  St. 
Enodoc  tower,  but  that  served  as  a  guide  to  those  who 
rushed  upon  the  wreck,  and  was  every  whit  as  much  to 
their  advantage  as  to  that  of  the  shipwrecked  men.  For, 
suppose  that  the  crew  and  passengers  had  got  off  in  their 
boats,  they  would  have  made,  naturally,  for  the  light, 
and  who  could  say  but  that  a  gang  of  ruffians  was  not 
waiting  on  the  shore  to  plunder  them  as  they  landed. 

The  general  feeling  in  the  county  was  one  of  vexation 
that  more  prompt  action  had  not  been  taken,  or  that  the 
action  taken  had  not  been  more  successful.  No  man 
showed  this  feeling  more  fully  than  Mr.  Scantlebray,  who 
hunted  with  the  coastguard  for  his  own  ends,  and  who 
had  felt  sanguine  that  in  this  case  Coppinger  would  be 
caught. 

That  Coppinger  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  attempt, 
which  had  been  partly  successful,  few  doubted,  and  yet 
there  was  not  a  shadow  of  proof  against  him.  But  that, 
according  to  common  opinion,  only  showed  how  deep 
was  his  craft. 

The  state  of  Judith's  mind  was  also  one  of  unrest.  She 
had  a  conviction  seated  in  her  heart  that  all  was  not 
right,  and  yet  she  had  no  sound  cause  for  charging  her 
husband  with  being  a  deliberate  wrecker.  Jamie  had 
gone  out  with  his  ass  and  the  lantern,  that  was  true,  but 
was  Jamie's  account  of  the  affair  to  be  relied  on  ?  "When 
questioned  he  became  confused.  He  never  could  be 


294:  IXT  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

trusted  to  recall,  twenty-four  Lours  after  an  event,  the 
particulars  exactly  as  they  occurred.  Any  suggestive 
queries  drew  him  aside,  and  without  an  intent  to  deceive 
he  would  tell  what  was  a  lie,  simply  because  he  could 
not  distinguish  between  realities  and  fleeting  impres- 
sions. She  knew  that  if  she  asked  him  whether  Cop- 
pinger  had  fastened  the  lantern  to  the  head  of  his  don- 
key, and  had  bidden  him  drive  the  creature  slowly  up 
and  down  the  inequalities  of  the  surface  of  the  cliffs,  he 
would  assent,  and  say  it  was  so ;  but,  then,  if  she  were  to 
say  to  him,  "  Now,  Jamie,  did  not  Captain  Coppinger  tell 
you  on  no  account  to  show  the  light  till  you  reached  the 
shore  at  St.  Enodoc,  and  then  to  fix  it  steadily,"  that  his 
face  would  for  a  moment  assume  a  vacant,  then  a  dis- 
tressed expression,  and  he  would  finally  say  that  he  be- 
lieved it  really  was  so.  No  reliance  was  to  be  placed  on 
anything  he  said,  except  at  the  moment,  and  not  always 
then.  He  was  liable  to  misunderstand  directions,  and  by 
a  stupid  perversity  to  act  exactly  contrary  to  the  instruc- 
tions given  him. 

Judith  heard  nothing  of  the  surmises  that  floated  in 
the  neighborhood,  but  she  knew  enough  to  be  uneasy. 
She  had  been  somewhat  reassured  by  Oliver  Menaida; 
she  could  see  no  reason  why  he  should  withhold  the  truth 
from  her.  Was  it,  then,  possible  after  all  that  Captain 
Coppinger  had  gone  to  the  rescue  of  the  wrecked  people, 
that  he  had  sent  the  light  not  to  mislead,  but  to  direct 
them  aright  ? 

It  was  Judith's  fate — so  it  seemed — to  be  never  cer- 
tain whether  to  think  the  worst  of  Coppinger,  or  to  hold 
that  he  had  been  misjudged  by  her.  He  had  been  badly 
hurt  in  his  attempt  to  rescue  the  crew  and  passengers 
—according  to  Aunt  Dionysia's  account.  If  she  were  to 
believe  this  story,  then  he  was  deserving  of  respect. 

Judith  began  to  recover  some  of  her  cheerfulness, 
some  of  her  freshness  of  looks.  This  was  due  to  the 
abatement  of  her  fears.  Coppinger  had  angrily,  sullenly, 
accepted  the  relation  which  she  had  assured  him  must 
subsist  between  them,  and  which  could  never  be  altered. 

Aunt  Dionysia  was  peevish  and  morose  indeed.  She 
had  been  disappointed  in  her  hope  of  getting  into  Othel- 
lo Cottage  before  Christmas ;  but  she  had  apparently  re- 
ceived a  caution  from  Coppinger  not  to  exhibit  ill-will 
toward  his  wife  by  won}  or  token,  and  she  restrained  her- 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  295 

self,  though  with  manifest  effort.  That  sufficed  Judith. 
She  110  longer  looked  for,  cared  for  love  from  her  aunt. 
It  satisfied  her  if  Miss  Trevisa  left  her  unmolested. 

Moreover,  Judith  enjoyed  the  walk  to  Polzeath  every 
day,  and,  somehow,  the  lessons  to  Jamie  gave  her  an  in- 
terest that  she  had  never  found  in  them  before.  Oliver 
was  so  helpful.  When  Jamie  was  stubborn,  he  per- 
suaded him  with  a  joke  or  a  promise  to  laugh  and  put 
aside  his  ill-humor,  and  attack'  the  task  once  more.  The 
little  gossiping  talk  after  the  lesson  with  Oliver,  or  with 
Oliver  and  his  father,  was  a  delight  to  her.  She  looked 
forward  to  it,  from  day  to  day,  naturally,  reasonably,  for 
at  the  Glaze  she  had  no  one  with  whom  to  converse,  no 
one  with  the  same  general  interests  as  herself,  the  same 
knowledge  of  books,  and  pleasure  in  the  acquisition  of 
information. 

On  mountain  sides  there  are  floral  zones.  The  rhodo- 
dendron and  the  gentian  luxuriate  at  a  certain  -level, 
above  is  the  zone  of  the  blue  hippatica,  the  soldanella, 
and  white  crocus ;  below  is  the  belt  of  mealy  primula 
and  lilac  clematis.  So  is  it  in  the  world  of  minds — they 
have  their  levels,  and  can  only  live  on  those  levels. 
Transplant  them  to  a  higher  or  to  a  lower  zone  and  they 
suffer,  and  die. 

Judith  found  no  one  at  Pentyre  with  whom  she  could 
associate  with  pleasure.  It  was  only  when  she  was  at 
Polzeath  with  Uncle  Zachie  and  Oliver  that  she  could 
talk  freely  and  feel  in  her  element. 

One  day  Oliver  said  to  her,  "  Judith  " — for,  on  the 
understanding  that  they  were  cousins,  they  called  each 
other  by  their  Christian  names — "  Judith  !  are  you  going1 
to  the  ball  at  Wadebridge  after  Christmas  1 " 

"Ball,  Oliver,  what  ball  f" 

"  That  which  Mr.  Mules  is  giving  for  the  restoration 
of  his  church." 

"  I  do  not  know.     I — yes,  I  have  heard  of  it ;  but  I  had  . 
clean  forgotten  all  about  it.     I  had  rather  not." 

"  But  you  must,  and  promise  me  three  dances,  at  least." 

"  I  do  not  know  what  to  say.  Captain  Coppinger  " — 
she  never  spoke  of  her  husband  by  his  Christian  name, 
never  thought  of  him  as  other  than  Captain  Coppinger. 
Did  she  think  of  Oliver  as  Mr.  Menaida,  junior  1  "  Cap- 
tain Coppinger  has  not  said  anything  to  me  about  it  of 
late.  I  do  not  wish  to  go.  My  dear  father's  death " 


296  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

"  But  the  dance  is  after  Christmas.  And,  you  know, 
it  is  for  a  sacred  purpose.  Think,  every  whirl  you  take 
puts  a  new  stone  on  the  foundations,  and  every  setting 
to  your  partner  in  quadrille  adds  a  pane  of  glass  to  the 
battered  windows." 

"  I  do  not  know,"  again  said  Judith,  and  became  grave. 
Her  heart  fluttered.  She  would  like  to  be  at  the  ball — 
and  dance  three  dances  with  Oliver— but  would  Captain 
Coppinger  suffer  her  ?  Would  he  expect  to  dance  with 
her  all  the  evening?  If  that  were  so,  she  would  not 
like  to  go.  "I  really  do  not  know,"  again  she  said, 
clasped  her  hands  on  her  knees,  and  sighed. 

"  Why  that  sigh,  Judith  ?  " 

She  looked  up,  dropped  her  eyes  in  confusion,  and 
said  faintly,  "  I  do  not  know,"  and  that  was  her  first  lie. 


CHAPTEK  XL. 

THE  DIAMOND  BUTTEKFLY. 

Poor  little  fool !  Shrewd  in  maintaining-  her  conflict 
with  Cruel  Coppinger — always  on  the  defensive,  ever  on 
guard,  she  was  sliding  unconsciously,  without  the  small- 
est suspicion  of  danger,  into  a  state  that  must  event- 
ually make  her  position  more  desperate  and  intolerable. 
In  her  inexperience  she  had  never  supposed  that  her  own 
heart  could  be  a  traitor  within  the  city  walls.  She  took 
pleasure  in  the  society  of  Oliver,  and  thought  no  wrong 
in  so  doing.  She  liked  him,  and  would  have  reproached 
herself  had  she  not  done  so. 

Her  relations  with  Coppinger  remained  strained.  He 
was  a  good  deal  from  home ;  indeed,  he  went  on  a  cruise 
in  his  vessel,  the  Black  Prince,  and  was  absent  for  a 
month.  He  hoped  that  in  his  absence  she  might  come 
to  a  better  mind.  They  met,  when  he  was  at  home, 
at  meals ;  at  other  times  not  at  all.  He  went  his  way, 
she  went  hers.  Whether  the  agitation  of  men's  minds 
relative  to  the  loss  of  the  merchantman,  and  the  rumors 
concerning  the  manner  of  its  loss,  had  made  Captain 
Cruel  think  it  were  well  for  him  to  absent  himself  for 
a  while,  till  they  had  blown  away,  or  whether  he  thought 
that  his  business  required  his  attention  elsewhere,  or 
that  by  being  away  from  home  his  wife  might  be  the 
readier  to  welcome  him,  and  come  out  of  her  vantage 
castle,  and  lay  down  her  arms,  cannot  be  said  for  certain ; 

Erobably  all  these  motives  combined  to  induce  him  to 
?ave  Pentyre  for  five  or  six  weeks. 
While  he  was  away  Judith  was  lighter  in  heart.     He 
returned  shortly  before  Christmas,  and  was  glad  to  see 
her  more  like  her  old  self,  with  cheeks  rounder,  less 
livid,  eyes  less  sunken,  less  like  those  of  a  hunted  beast, 
and  with  a  step  that  had  resumed  its  elasticity.     But  he 
did  not  find  her  more  disposed  to  receive  him  with  affec- 
tion as  a  husband.    He  thought  that  probably  some 


298  /2\r  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

change  in  the  monotony  of  life  at  Pentyre  might  be  of 
tidvantage,  and  he  somewhat  eagerly  entered  into  the 
scheme  for  the  ball  at  "Wadebridge.  She  had  been 
kept  to  books  and  to  the  society  of  her  father  too  much, 
in  days  gone  by,  and  had  become  whimsical  and  prudish. 
She  must  learn  some  of  the  enjoyments  of  life,  and 
then  she  would  cling  to  the  man  who  opened  to  her  a 
new  sphere  of  happiness. 

"  Judith,"  said  he,  "  we  will  certainly  go  to  this  ball. 
It  will  be  a  pleasant  one.  As  it  is  for  a  charitable  pur- 
pose, all  the  neighborhood  will  be  there.  Squire  Hum- 
phrey Prideaux  of  Prideaux  Place,  the  Matthews  of  Ros- 
carrock,  the  Molesworths  of  Pencarrow,  and  every  one 
worth  knowing  in  the  country  round  for  twelve  miles. 
But  you  will  be  the  queen  of  the  ball." 

Judith  at  first  thought  of  appearing  at  the  dance  in  her 
simplest  evening  dress ;  she  was  shy  and  did  not  desire 
to  attract  attention.  Her  own  position  was  anomalous, 
because  that  of  Coppinger  was  anomalous.  He  passed 
as  a  gentleman  in  a  part  of  the  country  not  very  exact- 
ing that  the  highest  culture  should  prevail  in  the  upper 
region  of  society.  He  had  means,  and  he  owned  a  small 
estate.  But  no  one  knew  whence  he  came,  or  what  was 
the  real  source  whence  he  derived  his  income.  Sus- 
picion attached  to  him  as  engaged  in  both  smuggling 
and  wrecking,  neither  of  which  were  regarded  as  pro- 
fessions consonant  with  gentility.  The  result  of  this 
uncertainty  relative  to  Coppinger  was  that  he  was  not 
received  into  the  best  society.  The  gentlemen  knew 
him  and  greeted  him  in  the  hunting-field,  and  would 
dine  with  him  at  his  house.  The  ladies,  of  course,  had 
never  been  invited,  because  he  was  an  unmarried  man. 
The  gentlemen  probably  had  dealings  with  him  about 
which  they  said  nothing  to  their  wives.  It  is  certain 
that  the  Bodmin  wine-merchant  grumbled  that  the  great 
houses  of  the  north  of  Cornwall  did  not  patronize  him 
as  they  ought,  and  that  no  wine-merchant  was  ever  able 
to  pick  up  a  subsistence  at  Wadebridge.  Yet  the  coun- 
try gentry  were  by  no  means  given  to  temperance,  and 
their  cellars  were  being  continually  refilled. 

It  was  not  their  interest  to  be  on  bad  terms  with  Cop- 
pinger, one  must  conjecture,  for  they  went  somewhat 
out  of  their  way  to  be  civil  to  him. 

Coppinger  knew  this,  and  thought  that  now  he  was 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  299 

married  an  opportunity  had  come  in  this  charity 
ball  for  the  introduction  of  Judith  to  society,  and  that 
to  the  best  society,  and  he  trusted  to  her  merits  and 
beauty,  and  to  his  own  influence  with  the  gentlemen,  to 
obtain  for  her  admission  to  the  houses  of  the  neighbor- 
hood. As  the  daughter  of  the  Rev.  Peter  Trevisa,  who 
had  been  universally  respected,  not  only  as  a  gentleman 
and  a  scholar,  but  also  as  a  representative  of  an  ancient 
Cornish  family  of  untold  antiquity,  she  had  a  perfect 
right  to  be  received  into  the  highest  society  of  Corn- 
wall, but  her  father  had  been  a  reserved  and  poor  man. 
He  did  not  himself  care  for  associating  with  fox-hunting 
and  sporting  squires,  nor  would  he  accept  invitations 
when  he  was  unable  to  return  them.  Consequently 
Judith  had  gone  about  very  little  when  at  St.  Enodoc 
rectory.  Moreover,  she  had  been  but  a  child,  and  was 
known  only  by  name  to  those  who  lived  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. She  was  personally  acquainted  with  none  of 
the  county  people. 

Captain  Cruel  had  small  doubt  but  that,  the  ice  once 
broken,  Judith  would  make  friends,  and  would  be  warm- 
ly received.  The  neighborhood  was  scantily  peppered 
over  with  county  family-seats,  and  the  families  found 
the  winters  tedious,  and  were  glad  of  any  accession  to 
their  acquaintance,  and  of  another  house  opened  to 
them  for  entertainment. 

If  Judith  were  received  well,  and  found  distraction 
from  her  morbid  and  fantastic  thoughts,  then  she  would 
be  grateful  to  him — so  thought  Coppiiiger— grateful  for 
having  brought  her  into  a  more  cheerful  and  bright  con- 
dition of  life  than  that  in  which  she  had  been  reared. 
Following  thereon,  her  aversion  for  him,  or  shyness 
toward  him,  would  give  way. 

And  Judith — Avhat  were  her  thoughts'?  Her  mind 
was  a  little  fluttered,  she  had  to  consider  what  to  wear. 
At  first  she  would  go  simply  clad,  then  her  aunt  insisted 
that,  as  a  bride,  she  must  appear  in  suitable  garb,  that 
in  which  she  had  been  married,  not  that  with  the  two 
sleeves  for  one  side,  which  had  been  laid  by.  Then  the 
question  of  the  jewellery  arose.  Judith  did  not  wish  to 
wear  it,  but  yielded  to  her  aunt's  advice.  Miss  Trevisa 
represented  to  her  that,  having  the  diamonds,  she  ought 
to  wear  them,  and  that  not  to  wear  them  would  hurt  and 
offend  Captain  Coppinger,  who  had  given  them  to  her. 


300  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

This  she  was  reluctant  to  do.  However,  she  consented 
to  oblige  and  humor  him  in  such  a  small  matter. 

The  night  arrived,  and  Judith  was  dressed  for  the  ball. 
Never  before  had  Coppinger  seen  her  in  evening1  cos- 
tume, and  his  face  beamed  with  pride  as  he  looked  on  her 
in  her  white  silk  dress,  with  ornaments  of  white  satiny 
bugles  in  sprigs  edging"  throat  and  sleeves,  and  forming 
a  rich  belt  about  the  waist.  She  wore  the  diamond  but- 
terfly in  her  bosom,  and  the  two  earring's  to  match.  A  lit- 
tle color  was  in  her  delicately  pure  cheeks,  brought  there 
by  excitement.  She  had  never  been  at  a  ball  before,  and 
with  an  innocent,  childish  simplicity  she  wondered  what 
Oliver  Menaida  would  think  of  her  in  her  ball-dress. 

Judith  and  Coppinger  arrived  somewhat  late,  and 
most  of  those  who  had  taken  tickets  were  already  there. 
Sir  William  and  Lady  Molesworth  were  there,  and  the 
half-brother  of  Sir  William,  John  Molesworth,  rector  of 
St.  Breock,  and  his  wife,  the  daughter  of  Sir  John  S. 
Aubyn.  With  the  baronet  and  his  lady  had  come  a 
friend,  staying-  with  them  at  Pencarrow,  and  Lady 
Knighton,  wife  of  an  Indian  judge.  The  Matthews  were 
there ;  the  Tremaynes  came  all  the  way  from  Heligan, 
as  owning-  property  in  St.  Enodoc,  and  so,  in  duty  bound 
to  support  the  charity ;  the  Prideauxs  were  there  from 
Place ;  and  many,  if  not  all,  of  the  gentry  of  various 
degrees  who  resided  within  twelve  to  fifteen  miles  of 
Wadebridge  were  also  there. 

The  room  was  not  one  of  any  interest,  it  was  long-, 
had  a  good  floor,  which  is  the  main  thing  considered  by 
dancers,  a  gallery  at  one  end  for  the  instrumentalists, 
and  a  draught  which  circulated  round  the  walls,  and  cut 
the  throats  of  the  old  ladies  who  acted  as  wall -fruit. 
There  was,  however,  a  room  to  which  they  could  adjourn 
to  play  cards.  And  many  of  the  dowagers  and  old  maids 
had  brought  with  them  little  silver  linked  purses  in 
which  was  as  much  money  as  they  had  made  up  their 
minds  to  lose  that  evening. 

The  dowager  Lady  Molesworth  in  a  red  turban  was 
talking  to  Lady  Knighton,  a  lady  who  had  been  pretty, 
but  whose  complexion  had  been  spoiled  by  Indian  suns, 
and  to  her  Sir  William  was  offering  a  cup  of  tea. 

"  You  see,"  said  Lady  Knighton,  "  how  tremulous  my 
hand  is.  I  have  been  like  this  for  some  years — indeed 
ever  since  I  was  in  this  neighborhood  before." 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  301 

"  I  did  not  know  you  had  honored  us  with  a  visit  on  a 
previous  occasion,"  said  Sir  William. 

*'  It  was  very  different  from  the  present,  I  can  assure 
you,"  answered  the  lady.  "  Now  it  ia  voluntarily — then 
it  was  much  the  contrary.  Now  I  have  come  among-  very 
dear  arid  kind  friends,  then — I  fell  among1  thieves." 

"Indeed!" 

"  It  was  011  my  return  from  India,"  said  Lady  Knight- 
011.  "  Look  at  my  hand !  "  She  held  forth  her  arm,  and 
showed  how  it  shook  as  with  palsy.  "  This  hand  was 
firm  then.  I  even  played  several  games  of  spellikins  oil 
board  ship  on  the  voyage  home,  and,  Sir  William,  I  won 
invariably,  so  steady  was  my  hold  of  the  crook,  so  evenly 
did  I  raise  each  of  the  little  sticks.  But  ever  since  then 
I  have  had  this  nervous  tremor  that  makes  me  dread 
holding  anything." 

"  But  how  came  it  about  ?  "  asked  the  baronet. 

"  I  will  tell  you,  but — who  is  that  just  entered  the 
room  ?  "  she  pointed  with  trembling  finger. 

Judith  had  come  in  along-  with  Captain  Coppinger, 
and  stood  near  the  door,  the  light  of  the  wax  candles 
twinkling  in  her  bugles,  glancing-  in  flashes  from  her 
radiant  hair.  She  was  looking  about  her,  and  her  bosom 
heaved,  she  sought  Oliver,  and  he  was  near  at  hand.  A 
flush  of  pleasure  sprang-  into  her  cheeks  as  she  caught 
his  eye,  and  held  out  her  hand. 

"  I  demand  my  dance ! "  said  he. 

"  No,  not  the  first,  Oliver,"  she  answered. 

Coppinger's  brows  knit. 

"  Who  is  this  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh  f  do  you  not  know  ?  Mr.  Menaida's  son,  Mr.  Oliver." 

The  two  men's  eyes  met,  their  irises  contracted. 

"  I  think  we  have  met  before,"  said  Oliver. 

"  That  is  possible,"  answered  Captain  Cruel,  contemp- 
tuously, looking-  in  another  direction. 

"When  we  met  I  knew  you  without  your  knowing- 
me,"  pursued  the  young  man,  in  a  voice  that  shook  with 
anger.  He  had  recognized  the  tone  of  the  voice  that  had 
spoken  on  the  wreck. 

"  Of  that  I,  neither,  have  any  doubt  as  to  its  possibil- 
ity. I  do  not  recollect  every  Jack  I  encounter." 

A  moment  after  an  idea  struck  him,  and  he  turned  his 
head  sharply,  fixed  his  eyes  on  young-  Menaida,  and 
said,  "  Where  did  we  meet  *? " 


302  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

' '  Encounter  *  was  your  word." 

"  Very  well — encounter  ?  " 

"  On  Doom  Bar." 

Coppinger's  color  changed.  A  sinister  flicker  came 
into  his  sombre  eyes. 

"  Then,"  said  he  slowly,  in  low  vibrating  tones,  "  we 
shall  meet  again." 

"  Certainly,  we  shall  meet  again,  and  conclude  our — I 
use  your  term — '  encounter.' '' 

Judith  did  not  hear  the  conversation.  She  had  been 
pounced  upon  by  Mr.  Desiderius  Mules. 

"Now — positively  I  must  walk  through  a  quadrille 
with  you,"  said  the  rector.  "  This  is  all  my  affair ;  it  all 
springs  from  me,  I  arranged  everything.  I  beat  up 
patrons  and  patronesses.  I  stirred  up  the  neighborhood. 
It  all  turns  as  a  wheel  about  me  as  the  axle.  Come 
along,  the  band  is  beginning  to  play.  You  shall  pos- 
itively walk  through  a  quadrille  with  me."  Mr.  Mules 
was  not  the  man  to  be  put  on  one  side,  not  one  to  accept 
a  refusal ;  he  carried  off  the  bride  to  the  head  of  the  room 
and  set  her  in  one  square. 

"Look  at  the  decorations,"  said  Mr.  Mules,  "I  de- 
signed them.  I  hope  you  will  like  the  supper.  I  drew 
up  the  menu.  I  chose  the  wines,  and  I  know  they  are 
good.  The  candles  I  got  at  wholesale  price — because 
for  a  charity.  What  beautiful  diamonds  you  are  wear- 
ing. They  are  not  paste,  I  suppose  I " 

"I  believe  not." 

"Yet  good  old  paste  is  just  as  iridescent  as  real  dia- 
monds. Where  did  you  get  them?  Are  they  family 
jewels  ?  I  have  heard  that  the  Trevisas  were  great  peo- 
ple at  one  time.  Well,  so  were  the  Mules.  AVe  are 
really  De  Moels.  We  came  in  with  the  Conqueror. 
That  is  why  I  have  such  a  remarkable  Christian  name. 
Desiderius  is  the  French  Desire,  and  a  Norman  Chris- 
tian name.  Look  at  the  wreaths  of  laurel  and  holly. 
How  do  you  like  them  ?  " 

"  The  decorations  are  charming." 

"  I  am  so  pleased  that  you  have  come,"  pursued  Mr. 
Mules.  "  It  is  your  first  appearance  in  public  as  Mrs. 
Captain  Coppinger.  I  have  been  horribly  uncomforta- 
ble about — you  remember  what.  I  have  been  afraid  I 
had  put  my  foot  into  it,  and  might  get  into  hot  water. 
But  now  you  have  come  here,  it  is  all  right ;  it  shows  me 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  303 

that  you  are  coming-  round  to  a  sensible  view,  and  that 
to-morrow  you  will  be  at  the  rectory  and  sign  the  reg-- 
ister.  If  inconvenient,  I  will  run  up  with  it  under 
my  arm  to  the  Glaze.  At  what  time  am  I  likely  to  catch 
you  both  in?  The  witnesses,  Miss  Trevisa  and  Mr. 
Menaida,  one  can  always  get  at.  Perhaps  you  will  speak 
to  your  aunt  and  see  that  she  is  on  the  spot,  and  I'll 
take  the  old  fellow  on  my  way  home." 

"  Mr.  Mules,  we  will  not  talk  of  that  now." 

"  Come !  you  must  see,  and  be  introduced  to,  Lady 
Molesworth." 

In  the  meanwhile  Lady  Knighton  was  telling-  her 
story  to  a  party  round  her. 

"  I  was  returning  with  my  two  children  from  India ; 
it  is  now  some  years  ag-o.  It  is  so  sad,  in  the  case  of  In- 
dians, either  the  parents  must  part  from  their  children, 
or  the  mother  must  take  her  children  to  England  and  be 
parted  from  her  husband.  I  brought  my  little  ones 
back  to  be  with  my  husband's  sister,  who  kindly  under- 
took to  see  to  them.  We  encountered  a  terrible  gale  as 
we  approached  this  coast ;  do  you  recollect  the  loss  of 
the  Andromeda  ?  " 

"  Perfectly,"  answered  Sir  William  Molesworth ;  "  were 
you  in  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,  to  my  cost.  One  of  my  darling's  so  suffered 
from  the  exposure  that  she  died.  But,  really,  I  do  not 
think  it  was  the  wreck  of  the  vessel  which  was  worst.  It 
was  not  that,  not  that  alone,  which  brought  this  nervous 
tremor  on  me." 

"  I  remember  that  case,"  said  Sir  William.  "  It  was  a 
very  bad  one,  and  disgraceful  to  our  county.  We  have 
recently  had  an  ugly  story  of  a  wreck  on  Doom  Bar,  with 
suspicion  of  evil  practices  ;  but  nothing  could  be 
proved,  nothing  brought  home  to  anyone.  In  the  case  of 
the  Andromeda  there  was  something-  of  the  same  sort." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  there  were  evil  practices.  I  was 
robbed." 

"You!  surely,  Lady  Knig-hton,  it  was  not  of  you  that 
the  story  was  told  ?  " 

"  If  you  mean  the  story  of  the  diamonds,  it  was,"  an- 
swered the  Indian  lady.  "  We  had  to  leave  the  wreck, 
and  carry  all  our  portable  valuables  with  us.  I  had  a 
set  of  jewellery  of  Indian  work,  given  me  by  Sir  James 
— well,  he  was  only  plain  Mr.  Knighton  then.  It  was 


304  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

rather  quaint  in  design :  there  was  a  brooch  represent- 
ing a  butterfly,  and  two  emeralds  formed  the— 

"  Excuse  me  one  moment,  Lady  Knighton,"  said  Sir 
William.  "  Here  comes  the  new  rector  of  St.  Enodoc, 
with  the  bride,  to  introduce  her  to  my  wife.  I  am 
ashamed  to  say  we  have  not  made  her  acquaintance  be- 
fore." 

"  Bride  !  what— his  bride  ? " 

"  Oh,  no ;  the  bride  of  a  certain  Captain  Coppinger, 
who  lives  near  here." 

"  She  is  pretty,  very  pretty  ;  but  how  delicate  !  " 

Suddenly  Lady  Knighton  sprang  to  her  feet,  with  an 
exclamation  so  shrill  and  startling  that  the  dancers 
ceased,  and  the  conductor  of  the  band,  thinking  an  acci- 
dent had  occurred,  with  his  baton  stopped  the  music. 
All  attention  was  drawn  to  Lady  Knighton,  who,  erect, 
trembling  from  head  to  foot,  stood  pointing  with  shak- 
ing finger  to  Judith. 

"  See !  see !  My  jewels,  that  were  torn  from  me ! 
Look  ! "  She  lifted  the  hair,  worn  low  over  her  cheeks, 
and  displayed  one  ear ;  the  lobe  was  torn  away. 

No  one  stirred  in  the  ball-room ;  no  one  spoke.  The 
fiddler  stood  with  bow  suspended  over  the  strings,  the 
flutist  with  fingers  on  all  stops.  Every  eye  was  fixed 
on  Judith.  It  was  still  in  that  room  as  though  a  ghost 
had  passed  through  in  winding-sheet.  In  this  hush, 
Lady  Knighton  approached  Judith,  pointing  still  with 
trembling  hand. 

"  I  demand,  whence  comes  that  brooch  ?  Where — 
from  whom  did  you  get  those  earrings  ?  They  are  mine ; 
given  me  in  India  by  my  husband.  They  are  Indian 
work,  and  not  to  be  mistaken.  They  were  plucked  from 
me  one  awful  night  of  wreck  by  a  monster  in  human 
form,  who  came  to  our  vessel,  as  we  sought  to  leave  it, 
and  robbed  us  of  our  treasures.  Answer  me — who  gave 
you  those  jewels  1 " 

Judith  was  speechless.  The  lights  in  the  room  died 
to  feeble  stars.  The  floor  rolled  like  a  sea  under  her 
feet ;  the  ceiling  was  coming  down  on  her. 

She  heard  whispers,  murmurs — a  humming  as  of  a 
swarm  of  bees  approaching  ready  to  settle  on  her  and 
sting  her.  She  looked  round  her.  Every  one  had  with- 
drawn from  her.  Mr.  Desiderius  Mules  had  released 
her  arm,  and  stood  back.  She  tried  to  speak,  but  could 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  305 

not.  Should  she  make  the  confession  which  would  in- 
criminate her  husband  ? 

Then  she  heard  a  man's  deep  voice,  heard  a  step  on 
the  floor.  In  a  moment  an  arm  was  round  her,  sustain- 
ing- her,  as  she  tottered. 

"  I  gave  her  the  jewels.  I,  Curll  Coppinger,  of  Pentyre. 
If  you  ask  where  I  g-ot  them — I  will  tell  you.  I  bought 
them  of  Willy  Mann,  the  pedlar.  I  will  give  you  any 
further  information  you  require  to-morrow.  Make  room ; 
my  wife  is  frightened." 

Then,  holding  her,  looking-  haughtily,  threateningly, 
from  side  to  side,  Coppinger  helped  Judith  along- — the 
whole  length  of  the  ball-room — between  rows  of  aston- 
ished, open-eyed,  mute  dancers.  Near  the  door  was  a 
knot  of  gentlemen.  They  sprang-  apart,  and  Coppinger 
conveyed  Judith  through  the  door,  out  of  the  light,  down 
the  stairs,  into  the  open  air. 


CHAPTEE  XLI. 

A    DEAD -LOCK. 

The  incident  of  the  jewellery  of  Lady  Knighton  occa- 
sioned much  talk.  On  the  evening  of  the  ball  it  occu- 
pied the  whole  conversation,  as  the  sole  topic  on  which 
tongues  could  run  and  brains  work.  I  say  tongues  run 
and  brains  work  and  not  brains  work  and  tongues  run, 
for  the  former  is  the  natural  order  in  chatter.  It  was  a 
subject  that  was  thrashed  by  a  hundred  tongues  of  the 
dancers.  Then  it  was  turned  over  and  rethrashed.  Then 
it  was  winnowed.  The  chaff  of  the  tale  was  blown  into 
the  kitchens  and  servants'  halls,  it  drifted  into  tap-rooms, 
where  the  coachmen  and  grooms  congregated  and 
drank ;  and  there  it  was  rethrashed  and  rewinnowed. 

On  the  day  following  the  ball,  the  jewels  were  re- 
turned to  Lady  Knight  on,  with  a  courteous  letter  from 
Captain  Coppinger,  to  say  that  he  had  obtained  them 
through  the  well-known  Willy  Mann,  a  pedlar  who  did 
commissions  for  the  neighborhood,  who  travelled  from 
Exeter  along  the  south  coast  of  Devon  and  Cornwall, 
and  returned  along  the  north  coast  of  both  counties. 

Everyone  had  made  use  of  this  fellow  to  do  commis- 
sions, and  trustworthy  he  had  always  proved.  That  was 
not  a  time  when  there  was  a  parcels'  post,  and  few  could 
afford  the  time  and  the  money  to  run  at  every  require- 
ment to  the  great  cities,  where  were  important  shops 
when  they  required  what  could  not  be  obtained  in  small 
country  towns.  He  had  been  employed  to  match  silks, 
to  choose  carpets,  to  bring  medicines,  to  select  jewellery, 
to  convey  love-letters. 

But  Willy  Mann  had,  unfortunately,  died  a  month  ago, 
having  fallen  off  a  wagon  and  broken  his  neck. 

Consequently  it  was  not  possible  to  follow  vip  any  fur- 
ther the  traces  of  the  diamond  butterflies.  Willy  Mann, 
as  was  well  known,  had  been  a  vehicle  for  conveying 
sundry  valuables  from  ladies  who  had  lost  money  at 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  307 

cards,  and  wanted  to  recoup  by  parting-  with  bracelets 
and  brooches.  That  he  may  have  received  stolen  foods 
and  valuables  obtained  from  wrecks  was  also  probable. 

So,  after  all  the  thrashing1  and  winnowing',  folks  were 
no  wiser  than  before,  and  no  nearer  the  solution  of  the 
mystery.  Some  thought  that  Coppinger  was  guilty, 
others  thought  not,  and  others  maintained  a  neutral  po- 
sition. Some  again  thought  one  thing  one  day  and  the 
opposite  the  next,  and  some  always  agreed  with  the 
last  speaker's  views.  Whereas  others  again  always  took 
a  contrary  opinion  to  those  who  discussed  the  matter 
with  them. 

Moreover,  the  matter  went  through  a  course  much  like 
a  fever.  It  blazed  out,  was  furious,  then  died  away ; 
languor  ensued — and  it  g-ave  symptoms  of  disappearing. 

The  g-eneral  mistrust  ag-ainst  Copping-er  was  deepened, 
certainly,  and  the  men  who  had  wine  and  spirits  and  to- 
bacco through  him,  resolved  to  have  wine  and  spirits 
and  tobacco  from  him,  but  nothing  more.  They  would 
deal  with  him  as  a  trader,  and  not  acknowledge  him  as 
their  social  fellow.  The  ladies  pitied  Judith,  they  pro- 
fessed their  respect  for  her ;  but  as  beds  are  made  so 
must  they  be  lain  on,  and  as  is  cooked  so  must  be  eaten. 
She  had  married  a  man  whom  all  mistrusted,  and  must 
suffer  accordingly ;  one  who  is  associated  with  an  in- 
fected patient  is  certain  to  be  shunned  as  much  as  the 
patient.  Such  is  the  way  of  the  world,  and  we  cannot 
alter  it,  as  the  making-  of  that  way  has  not  been  in- 
trusted to  us.  On  the  day  following-  the  ball,  Judith 
did  not  appear  at  Polzeath,  nor  again  on  the  day  after 
that. 

Oliver  became  restless.  The  cheerful  humor,  the 
merry  mood  that  his  father  had  professed  were  his,  had 
deserted  him.  He  could  not  endure  the  thought  that 
one  so  innocent,  so  child-like  as  Judith,  should  have  her 
fortunes  linked  to  those  of  a  man  of  whom  he  knew  the 
worst.  He  could  not,  indeed,  swear  to  his  identity  with 
the  man  on  the  wreck  who  had  attempted  to  rob  the 
passengers,  and  who  had  fought  with  him.  He  had  no 
doubt  whatever  in  his  own  mind  that  his  adversary  and 
assailant  had  been  Coppinger,  but  he  was  led  to  this 
identification  by  nothing  more  tangible  than  the  allusion 
made  to  Wyvill's  death,  and  a  certain  tone  of  voice 
which  he  believed  he  recognized.  The  evidence  was  in- 


308  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

sufficient  to  convict  him,  of  that  Oliver  was  well  aware. 
He  was  confident,  moreover,  that  Coppinger  was  the 
man  who  had  taken  the  jewels  from  Lady  Knighton ;  but 
here  again  he  was  wholly  unsupported  by  any  sound 
basis  of  fact  on  which  his  conviction  could  maintain 
itself. 

Toward  Coppinger  he  felt  an  implacable  anger,  and  a 
keen  desire  for  revenge.  He  would  like  to  punish  him  for 
that  assault  on  the  wreck,  but  chiefly  for  the  wrongs 
done  to  Judith.  She  had  no  champion,  no  protector. 
His  father,  as  he  acknowledged  to  himself,  was  a  broken 
reed  for  one  to  lean  on,  a  man  of  good  intentions,  but  of  a 
confused  mind,  of  weakness  of  purpose,  and  lack  of  ener- 
gy. The  situation  of  Judith  was  a  pitiful  one,  and  if  she 
was  to  be  rescued  from  it,  he  must  rescue  her.  But  when 
he  came  to  consider  the  way  and  means,  he  found  himself 
beset  with  difficulties.  She  was  married  after  a  fashion. 
It  was  very  questionable  whether  the  marriage  was  legal, 
but,  nevertheless,  it  was  known  through  the  county  that 
a  marriage  had  taken  place,  Judith  had  gone  to  Cpp- 

Einger's  house,  and  had  appeared  at  the  ball  as  his  wife, 
f  he  established  before  the  world  that  the  marriage  was 
invalid,  what  would  she  do  ?     How  would,  the  world  re- 
gard her  ?     Was  it  possible  for  him  to  bring  Coppinger 
to  justice  ? 

Oliver  went  about  instituting  inquiries.  He  endeav- 
ored to  trace  to  their  source,  the  rumors  that  circulated 
relative  to  Coppinger,  but  always  without  finding  any- 
thing on  which  he  could  lay  hold.  It  was  made  plain  to 
him  that  Captain  Cruel  was  but  the  head  of  a  great  asso- 
ciation of  men,  all  involved  in  illegal  practices ;  men  en- 
gaged in  smuggling,  and  ready  to  make  their  profit  of  a 
wreck,  when  a  wreck  fell  in  their  way.  They  hung  togeth- 
er like  bees.  Touch  one,  and  the  whole  hive  swarmed  out. 
They  screened  one  another,  were  ready  to  give  testimony 
before  magistrates  that  would  exculpate  whoever  of  the 
gang  was  accused.  They  evaded  every  attempt  of  the 
coastguard  to  catch  them ;  they  laughed  at  the  constables 
and  magistrates.  Information  was  passed  from  one  to 
another  with  incredible  rapidity;  they  had  their  spies 
and  their  agents  along  the  coast.  The  magistrates  and 
country  gentry,  though  strongly  reprobating  Avrecking, 
and  bitterly  opposed  to  poaching,  were  of  broad  and  gen- 
erous views  regarding  smuggling,  and  the  preventive  of- 


IN  THE  BOAR   OF  THE  SEA.  309 

ficer  complained  that  lie  did  not  receive  that  support 
from  the  squirearchy  which  he  expected  and  had  a  right 
to  demand. 

There  were  caves  along  the  whole  coast,  from  Land's 
End  to  Hartland,  and  there  were,  unquestionably,  stores 
of  smuggled  goods  in  a  vast  number  of  places,  centres 
whence  they  were  distributed.  When  a  vessel  engaged 
in  the  contraband  trade  appeared  off  the  coast,  and  the 
guard  were  on  the  alert  in  one  place,  she  ran  a  few  miles 
up  or  down,  signalled  to  shore,  and  landed  her  cargo  be- 
fore the  coastguard  knew  where  she  was.  They  were 
being  constantly  deceived,  by  false  information,  and  led 
away  in  one  direction  while  the  contraband  goods  were 
being  conveyed  ashore  in  an  opposite  quarter. 

Oliver  learned  much  concerning  this  during  the  ensu- 
ing few  days.  He  made  acquaintance  with  the  officer 
in  command  of  the  nearest  station,  and  resolved  to  keep 
a  close  watch  on  Coppinger,  and  to  do  his  utmost  to  ef- 
fect his  arrest.  When  Captain  Cruel  was  got  out  of  the 
way,  then  something  could  be  done  for  Judith.  An  op- 
portunity came  in  Oliver's  way  of  learning  tidings  of 
importance,  and  that  when  he  least  expected  it.  As  al- 
ready said,  he  was  wont  to  go  about  on  the  cliffs  with 
Jamie,  and  after  Judith  ceased  to  appear  at  Mr.  Me- 
naida's  cottage,  in  his  unrest  he  took  Jamie  much  with 
him,  out  of  consideration  for  Judith,  who,  as  he  was  well 
aware,  would  be  content  to  have  her  brother  with  him, 
and  kept  thereby  out  of  mischief. 

On  one  of  these  occasions  he  found  the  boy  lag  behind, 
become  uneasy,  and  at  last  refuse  to  go  farther.  He  in- 
quired the  reason,  and  Jamie,  in  evident  alarm,  replied 
that  he  dare  not — he  had  been  forbidden. 

"  By  whom  ?  " 

"  He  said  he  would  throw  me  over,  as  he  did  my  dog- 
gie, if  I  came  here  again." 

"Who  did?" 

"  Captain  Coppinger." 

"But  why?" 

Jamie  was  frightened,  and  looked  round. 
I  mustn't  say,"  he  answered,  in  a  whisper. 

"  Must  not  say  what,  Jamie  ?  " 

"  I  was  to  let  no  one  know  about  it." 

"  About  what  ?  " 

"I  am  afraid  to  say.     He  would  throw  me   over.     I 


310  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

found  it  out  and  showed  it  to  Ju.  I  have  never  been 
down  there  since." 

"  Captain  Coppinger  found  you  somewhere,  and  for- 
bade your  ever  going-  to  that  place  again  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  in  a  faltering  voice. 

"  And  threatened  to  fling  you  over  the  cliffs  if  you  did  1 " 

"  Yes,"  again  timidly. 

Oliver  said  quietly,  "  Now  run  home  and  leave  me 
here." 

"  I  daren't  go  by  myself.  I  did  not  mean  to  come 
here." 

"  Very  well.  No  one  has  seen  you.  Let  me  see,  this 
wall  marks  the  spot.  I  will  go  back  with  you." 

Oliver  was  unusually  silent  as  he  walked  to  Polzeath 
with  Jamie.  He  was  unwilling  further  to  press  the  boy. 
He  would  probably  confuse  him,  by  throwing  him  into  a 
paroxysm  of  alarm.  He  had  gained  sufficient  informa- 
tion for  his  purpose  from  the  few  words  he  let  drop.  "I 
have  never  been  down  there  since,"  Jamie  had  said.  There 
was,  then,  something  that  Coppinger  desired  should  not 
be  generally  known  concealed  between  the  point  on  the 
cliff  where  the  "new-take"  wall  ended  and  the  beach  im- 
mediately beneath. 

He  took  Jamie  to  his  father,  and  got  the  old  man  to 
give  him  some  setting  up  of  birds  to  amuse  and  occupy 
him,  and  then  returned  to  the  cliff.  It  did  not  take  him 
long  to  discover  the  entrance  to  the  cave  beneath,  be- 
hind the  curtain  of  slate  reef,  and  as  he  penetrated  this 
to  the  farthest  point,  he  was  placed  in  possession  of  one 
of  the  secrets  of  Coppinger  and  his  band. 

He  did  not  tarry  there,  but  returned  home  another  way, 
musing  over  what  he  had  learned,  and  considering  what 
advantage  he  was  to  take  of  it.  A  very  little  thought 
satisfied  him  that  his  wisest  course  was  to  say  nothing 
about  what  he  had  learned,  and  to  await  the  turns  of 
fortune,  and  the  incautiousness  of  the  smugglers. 

From  this  time,  moreover,  he  discontinued  his  visits  to 
the  coastguard  station,  which  was  on  the  farther  side  of 
the  estuary  of  the  Camel,  and  which  could  not  well  be 
crossed  without  attracting  attention.  There  was  no 
trusting  anyone,  Oliver  felt — the  boatman  who  put  him 
across  was  very  possibly  in  league  with  the  smugglers, 
and  was  a  spy  on  those  who  were  in  communication  with 
the  officers  of  the  revenue. 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  311 

Another  reason  for  his  cessation  of  visits  was  that,  on 
his  return  to  his  father's  house,  after  having-  explored 
the  cave,  and  the  track  in  the  face  of  the  cliff  leading  to 
it,  he  heard  that  Jamie  had  been  taken  away  by  Coppin- 
ger. The  Captain  had  been  there  during-  his  absence, 
and  had  told  Mr.  Menaida  that  Judith  was  distressed  at 
being-  separated  from  her  brother,  and  that,  as  there  were 
reasons  which  made  him  desire  that  she  should  forego 
her  walks  to  Polzeath,  he,  Captain  Coppinger,  deemed  it 
advisable  to  bring  Jamie  back  to  Pentyre. 

Oliver  asked  himself,  when  he  heard  this,  with  some 
unease,  whether  this  was  due  to  his  having  been  observed 
with  the  boy  on  the  downs  near  the  place  from  which 
access  to  the  cave  was  had.  Also,  whether  the  boy  would 
be  frightened  at  the  appearance  of  Captain  Cruel  so  soon 
after  he  had  approached  the  forbidden  spot,  and,  in  his 
fear,  reveal  that  he  had  been  there  with  Oliver  and  had 
partially  betrayed  the  secret. 

There  was  another  question  he  was  also  constrained 
to  ask  himself,  and  it  was  one  that  made  the  color  flash 
into  his  cheek.  What  was  the  particular  reason  why 
Captain  Coppinger  objected  to  the  visits  of  his  wife 
to  Polzeath  at  that  time  ?  Was  he  jealous  ?  He  re- 
called the  flare  in  his  eyes  at  the  ball,  when  Judith 
turned  to  him,  held  out  her  hand,  and  called  him  by  his 
Christian  name. 

From  this  time  all  communication  with  Pentyre  Glaze 
was  cut  off;  tidings  relative  to  Judith  and  Jamie  were 
not  to  be  had.  Judith  was  not  seen,  Aunt  Dionysia 
rarely,  and  from  her  nothing  was  to  be  learned.  It  would 
hardly  comport  with  discretion  for  inquiries  to  be  made 
by  Oliver  of  the  servants  of  the  Glaze ;  but  his  father, 
moved  by  Oliver  and  by  his  own  anxiety,  did  venture  to 
go  to  the  house  and  ask  after  Judith.  He  was  coldly 
received  by  Miss  Trevisa,  who  took  the  opportunity  to 
insult  him  by  asking  if  he  had  come  to  have  his  bill  set- 
tled— there  being  a  small  account  in  his  favor  for  Jamie. 
She  paid  him,  and  sent  the  old  fellow  fuming,  stamping, 
even  swearing,  home,  and  as  ignorant  of  the  condition  of 
Judith  as  when  he  went.  He  had  not  seen  Judith,  nor 
had  he  met  Captain  Coppinger.  He  had  caught  a  glimpse 
of  Jamie  in  the  yard  with  his  donkey,  but  the  moment 
the  boy  saw  him  he  dived  into  the  stable,  and  did  not 
emerge  from  it  till  Uncle  Zachie  was  gone. 


312  IN  THE  HOAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

Then  Mr.  Menaida,  still  urged  by  his  son  and  by  his 
own  feeling-s,  incapable  of  action  unless  goaded  by  these 
double  spurs,  went  to  the  rectory  to  ask  Mr.  Mules  if  he 
had  seen  Judith,  and  whether  anything"  had  been  done 
about  the  signatures  in  the  register. 

Mr.  Desiderius  was  communicative. 

He  had  been  to  Pentyre  about  the  matter.  -  He  was,  as 
he  said,  "in  a  stew  over  it"  himself.  It  was  most 
awkward ;  he  had  filled  in  as  much  as  he  could  of  the  reg- 
ister, and  all  that  lacked  were  the  signatures — he  might 
say  all  but  that  of  the  bride  and  Mr.  Menaida,  for  there 
had  been  a  scene.  Mrs.  Coppinger  had  come  down,  and, 
in  the  presence  of  the  Captain  and  her  aunt,  he  had  ex- 
postulated with  her,  had  pointed  out  to  her  the  awkward 
position  in  which  it  placed  himself,  the  scruple  he  felt 
at  retaining1  the  fee,  when  the  work  was  only  half  done  ; 
how,  that  by  appearing  at  the  ball,  she  had  shown  to  the 
whole  neighborhood  that  she  was  the  wife  of  Captain 
Coppinger,  and  that,  having-  done  this,  she  might  as 
well  append  her  name  to  the  entry  in  the  register.  Then 
Captain  Coppinger  and  Miss  Trevisa  had  made  the 
requisite  entries,  but  Judith  had  again  calmly,  but  reso- 
lutely, refused. 

Mr.  Mules  admitted  there  had  been  a  scene.  Mr. 
Coppinger  became  angry,  and  used  somewhat  violent 
words.  But  nothing  that  he  himself  could  say,  no  rep- 
resentations made  by  her  aunt,  no  urgency  on  the  part  of 
her  husband  could  move  the  resolution  of  Judith,  "which 
was  a  bit  of  arrant  tomfoolery,"  said  Mr.  Desiderius, 
"  and  I  told  her  so.  Even  that — the  knowledge  that  she 
went  down  a  peg  in  my  estimation — even  that  did  not 
move  her." 

"  And  how  was  she  1 "  asked  Mr.  Menaida. 

"  Obstinate,"  answered  the  rector,  "  obstinate  as  a— 
I  mean  as  a  donkey,  that  is  the  position  of  affairs.  We 
are  at  a  dead-lock." 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

TWO  LETTERS. 

Oliver  Menaida  was  summoned  to  Bristol  by  the  heads 
of  the  firm  which  he  served,  and  he  was  there  detained 
for  ten  days. 

Whilst  he  was  away,  Uncle  Zachie  felt  his  solitude 
greatly.  Had  he  had  even  Jamie  with  him  he  might  have 
been  content,  but  to  be  left  completely  alone  was  a  trial 
to  him,  especially  since  he  had  become  accustomed  to 
having-  the  young  Trevisa  in  his  house.  He  missed  his 
music.  Judith's  playing  had  been  to  him  an  inexpressi- 
bly great  delight.  The  old  man  for  many  years  had  gone 
on  strumming  and  fumbling  at  music  by  great  masters, 
incapable  of  executing  it,  and  unwilling  to  hear  it 
performed  by  incompetent  instrumentalists.  At  length 
Judith  had  seated  herself  at  his  piano,  and  had  brought 
into  life  all  that  wondrous  world  of  melody  and  harmony 
which  he  had  guessed  at,  believed  in,  yearned  for,  but 
never  reached.  And  now  that  he  was  left  without  her  to 
play  to  him,  he  felt  like  one  deprived  of  a  necessary  of 
life. 

But  his  unrest  did  not  spring  solely  from  a  selfish  mo- 
tive. He  was  not  at  ease  in  his  mind  about  her.  Why 
did  he  not  see  her  anymore  ?  Why  was  she  confined  to 
Pentyre  ?  Was  she  ill  ?  Was  she  restrained  there 
against  her  will  from  visiting  her  old  friends  ?  Mr. 
Menaida  was  very  unhappy  because  of  Judith.  He  knew 
that  she  was  resolved  never  to  acknowledge  Coppinger 
as  her  real  husband ;  she  did  not  love  him,  she  shrank 
from  him.  And  knowing  what  he  did — the  story  of  the 
invasion  of  the  wreck,  the  fight  with  Oliver — he  felt  that 
there  was  no  brutality,  no  crime  which  Coppinger  was 
not  capable  of  committing,  and  he  trembled  for  the  hap- 
piness of  the  poor  little  creature  who  was  in  his  hands. 
Weak  and  irresolute  though  Mr.  Menaida  was,  he  was 
peppery  and  impulsive  when  irritated,  and  his  temper 


314:  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

had  been  roused  by  the  manner  of  his  reception  at  the 
Glaze,  when  he  went  there  to  inquire  after  Judith. 

Whilst  engaged  on  his  birds,  his  hand  shook,  so  that  he 
could  not  shape  them  aright.  When  he  smoked  his  pipe, 
he  pulled  it  from  between  his  lips  every  moment  to 
growl  out  some  remark.  When  he  sipped  his  grog,  he 
could  not  enjoy  it.  He  had  a  tender  heart,  and  he  had 
become  warmly  attached  to  Judith.  He  firmly  believed 
in  identification  of  the  ruffian  with  whom  Oliver  had 
fought  on  the  deck,  and  it  was  horrible  to  think  that  the 
poor  child  was  at  his  mercy ;  and  that  she  had  no  one  to 
counsel  and  to  help  her. 

At  length  he  could  endnre  the  suspense  no  longer. 
One  evening,  after  he  had  drank  a  good  many  glasses  of 
rum  and  water,  he  jumped  up,  put  on  his  hat,  and  went 
off  to  Pentyre,  determined  to  insist  on  seeing  Judith. 

As  he  approached  the  house  he  saw  that  the  hall  win- 
dows were  lighted  up.  He  knew  which  was  Judith's 
room,  from  what  she  had  told  him  of  its  position.  There 
was  a  light  in  that  window  also.  Uncle  Zachie,  flushed 
with  anger  against  Coppinger,  and  with  the  spirits  he 
had  drank,  anxious  about  Judith,  and  resenting  the  way 
in  which  he  had  been  treated,  went  boldly  up  to  the  front 
door  and  knocked.  A  maid  answered  his  knock,  and  he 
asked  to  see  Mrs.  Coppinger.  The  woman  hesitated,  and 
bade  him  be  seated  in  the  porch.  She  would  go  and  see. 

Presently  Miss  Trevisa  came,  and  shut  the  door  behind 
her,  as  she  emerged  into  the  porch. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  Mrs.  Coppinger,"  said  the  old 
man. 

"  I  am  sorry — you  cannot,"  answered  Miss  Trevisa. 

"  But  why  not  1 " 

"  This  is  not  a  fit  hour  at  which  to  call." 

"  May  I  see  her  if  I  come  at  any  other  hour  1 " 

"  I  cannot  say." 

"  Why  may  I  not  see  her  ? " 

"  She  is  unwell." 

"  If  she  is  unwell,  then  I  am  very  certain  she  would  be 
glad  to  see  Uncle  Zachie." 

"Of  that  I  am  no  judge/but  you  cannot  be  admitted 
now." 

"  Name  the  day,  the  hour,  when  I  may." 

"  That  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  do." 

"  What  ails  her  ?    Where  is  Jamie." 


IN  THE  BOAR  OF  THE  SEA.  315 

"  Jamie  is  here — in  good  hands." 

"  And  Judith." 

"  She  is  in  good  hands." 

"  In  good  hands !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Menaida,  "  I  should 
like  to  see  the  good,  clean  hands  worn  by  anyone  in  this 
house,  except  my  dear,  innocent  little  Judith.  I  must 
and  will  see  her.  I  must  know  from  her  own  lips  how 
she  is.  I  must  see  that  she  is  happy — or  at  least  not 
maltreated." 

"  Your  words  are  an  insult  to  me,  her  aunt,  and  to 
Captain  Coppinger,  her  husband,"  said  Miss  Trevisa, 
haughtily. 

"  Let  me  have  a  word  with  Captain  Coppinger." 

"He  is  not  at  home." 

"  Not  at  home  ! — I  hear  a  great  deal  of  noise.  There 
must  be  a  number  of  guests  in  the  hall.  Who  is  enter- 
taining them,  you  or  Judith  ?  " 

"  That  is  no  concern  of  yours,  Mr.  Menaida." 

"  I  do  not  believe  that  Captain  Coppinger  is  not  at 
home.  I  insist  on  seeing  him." 

"  Were  you  to. see  him — you  would  regret  it  afterwards. 
He  is  not  a  person  to  receive  impertinences  and  pass 
them  over.  You  have  already  behaved  in  a  most  inde- 
cent manner,  in  encouraging  my  niece,  to  visit  your 
house,  and  sit,  and  talk,  and  walk  with,  and  call  by  his 
Christian  name,  that  young  fellow,  your  son." 

"  Oliver!  "  Mr.  Menaida  was  staggered.  It  had  never 
occurred  to  his  fuddled,  yet  simple  mind,  that  the  in- 
timacy that  had  sprung  up  between  the  young  people 
was  capable  of  misinterpretation.  The  sense  that  he 
had  laid  himself  open  to  this  charge  made  him  very 
angry,  not  with  himself,  but  with  Coppinger  and  with 
Miss  Trevisa. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  the  old  man,  "  if  you  will  not 
let  me  in  I  suppose  you  will  not  object  to  my  writing  a 
line  to  Judith  ? " 

"  I  have  received  orders  to  allow  of  no  communication 
of  any  kind  whatsoever  between  my  niece  and  you  or 
your  house." 

"  You  have  received  orders — from  Coppinger  ? "  the 
old  man  named  with  anger.  "  Wait  a  bit !  There  is  no 
command  issued  that  you  are  not  to  take  a  message  from 
me  to  your  master  ?  " 

He  put  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  pulled  out  a  note-book, 


316  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

and  tore  out  of  it  a  page.     Then,  by  the  light  from  the 
hall  window,  he  scribbled  on  it  a  few  lines  in  pencil. 

"  SIE  !— You  are  a  scoundrel.  You  bully  your  wife. 
You  rob,  and  attempt  to  murder  those  who  are  ship- 
wrecked. ZACHAKY  MENAIDA." 

"  There,"  said  the  old  man,  "  that  will  draw  him,  and  I 
shall  see  him,  and  have  it  out  with  him." 

He  had  wafers  in  his  pocket-book.  He  wetted  and 
sealed  the  note.  Then  he  considered  that  he  had  not 
said  enough,  so  he  opened  the  page  again,  and  added : 
"I  shall  tell  all  the  world  what  I  know  about  you." 
Then  he  fastened  the  note  again,  and  directed  it.  But 
as  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  Captain  Coppiuger 
might  refuse  to  open  the  letter,  he  added  on  the  outside, 
"  The  contents  I  know  by  heart,  and  shall  proclaim  them 
011  the  house-tops."  He  thrust  the  note  into  Miss  Tre- 
visa's  hand,  and  turned  his  back  on  the  house,  and 
walked  home  snorting  and  muttering.  On  reaching 
Polzeath,  however,  he  had  cooled,  and  thought  that 
possibly  he  had  done  a  very  foolish  thing,  and  that 
most  certainty  he  had  in  no  way  helped  himself  to  what 
he  desired,  to  see  Judith  again.  Moreover,  with  a  qualm, 
he  became  aware  that  Oliver,  on  his  return  from  Bristol, 
would  in  all  probability  greatly  disapprove  of  this  fiery 
outburst  of  temper.  To  what  would  it  lead  1  Gould  he 
fight  Captain  Coppinger  ?  If  it  came  to  that,  he  was 
ready.  With  all  his  faults  Mr.  Menaida  was  no  coward. 

On  entering  his  house  he  found  Oliver  there,  just 
arrived  from  Camelford.  He  at  once  told  him  what  he 
had  done.  Oliver  did  not  reproach  him  ;  he  merely  said, 
"A  declaration  of  war,  father!  and  a  declaration  before 
we  are  quite  prepared." 

"  Well — I  suppose  so.  I  could  not  help  myself.  I  was 
so  incensed." 

"  The  thing  we  have  to  consider,"  said  Oliver,  "  is 
what  Judith  wishes,  and  how  it  is  to  be  carried  out. 
Some  communication  must  be  opened  with  her.  If  she 
desires  to  leave  the  house  of  that  fellow,  we  must  get 
her  away.  If,  however,  she  elects  to  remain,  our  hands 
are  tied  :  we  can  do  nothing." 

"  It  is  very  unfortunate  that  Jamie  is  no  longer  here ; 
we  could  have  sent  her  a  letter  through  him." 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  317 

"  He  has  been  removed  to  prevent  anything-  of  the 
sort  taking  place." 

Then  Oliver  started  up.  "  I  will  go  and  reconnoitre, 
myself." 

"No,"  said  the  father.  "Leave  all  tome.  You  must 
on  no  account  meddle  in  this  matter." 

"  Why  not  ? " 

"  Because  " — the  old  man  coughed.  "  Do  you  not  un- 
derstand— you  are  a  young  man." 

Oliver  colored,  and  said  no  more.  He  had  not  great 
confidence  in  his  father's  being  able  to  do  anything 
effectual  for  Judith.  The  step  he  had  recently  taken 
was  injudicious  and  dangerous,  and  could  further  the 
end  in  view  in  no  way. 

He  said  no  more  to  old  Mr.  Menaida,  but  he  resolved 
to  act  himself,  in  spite  of  the  remonstrance  made  and  the 
objection  raised  by  his  father.  No  sooner  was  the  elder 
man  gone  to  bed,  than  he  sallied  forth  and  took  the 
direction  of  Pentyre.  It  was  a  moonlight  night.  Clouds 
indeed  rolled  over  the  sky,  and  for  awhile  obscured  the 
moon,  but  a  moment  after  it  flared  forth  again.  A  little 
snow  had  fallen  and  frosted  the  ground,  making  every- 
thing unburied  by  the  white  flakes  to  seem  inky  black. 
A  cold  wind  whistled  mournfully  over  the  country.  Oli- 
ver walked  on,  not  feeling  the  cold,  so  glowing  were  his 
thoughts,  and  came  within  sight  of  the  Glaze.  His 
father  had  informed  him  that  there  were  guests  in  the 
hall ;  but  when  he  approached  the  house,  he  could  see 
no  lights  from  the  windows.  Indeed,  the  whole  house 
was  dark,  as  though  everyone  in  it  were  asleep,  or  it 
were  an  uninhabited  ruin.  That  most  of  the  windows 
had  shutters  he  was  aware,  and  that  these  might  be  shut 
so  as  to  exclude  the  chance  of  any  ray  issuing  he  also 
knew.  He  could  not  therefore  conclude  that  all  the 
household  had  retired  for  the  night. 

The  moon  was  near  its  full.  It  hung  high  aloft  in  an 
almost  cloudless  sky.  The  air  was  comparatively  still 
— still  it  never  is  on  that  coast,  nor  is  it  ever  unthrilled 
by  sound.  Now,  above  the  throb  of  the  ocean,  could  be 
heard  the  shrill  clatter  and  cry  of  the  gulls.  They  were 
not  asleep  ;  they  were  about,  fishing  or  quarrelling  in 
the  silver  light. 

Oliver  rather  wondered  at  the  house  being  so  hushed 
—wondered  that  the  guests  were  all  dismissed.  He 


318  IN  THE  ROAll  OF  THE  REA. 

• 

knew  in  which  wing-  of  the  mansion  was  Judith's  room, 
and  also  which  was  Judith's  window.  The  pure  white 
light  shone  on  the  face  of  the  house  and  glittered  in  the 
window-panes. 

As  Oliver  looked,  thinking  and  wondering-,  he  saw  the 
casement  opened,  and  Judith  appeared  at  it,  leaned  with 
her  elbow  on  the  sill,  and  rested  her  face  in  her  hand, 
looking-  up  at  the  moon.  The  light  air  just  lifted  her 
fine  hair.  Oliver  noticed  how  delicately  pale  and  fragile 
she  seemed — white  as  a  gull,  fragile  as  porcelain.  He 
would  not  disturb  her  for  a  moment  or  two ;  he  stood 
watching-,  with  an  oppression  on  his  heart,  and  with  a 
film  forming  over  his  eyes.  Could  nothing  be  done  for 
the  little  creature?  She  was  moped  up  in  her  room. 
She  was  imprisoned  in  this  house,  and  she  was  wasting, 
dying  in  confinement. 

And  now  he  stole  noiselessly  nearer.  There  was  an  old 
cattle-shed  adjoining  the  house,  that  had  lost  its  roof. 
Coppinger  concerned  himself  little  about  agriculture, 
and  the  shed  that  had  once  housed  cows  had  been  suf- 
fered to  fall  to  ruin,  the  slates  had  been  blown  off,  then 
the  rain  had  wetted  and  rotted  the  rafters,  and  finally 
the  decayed  rafters  had  fallen  with  their  remaining  load 
of  slates,  leaving  the  walls  alone  standing. 

Up  one  of  the  sides  of  this  ruinous  shed  Oliver 
climbed,  and  then  mounted  to  the  gable,  whence  he 
could  speak  to  Judith.  But  she  must  have  heard  him, 
and  been  alarmed,  for  she  hastily  closed  the  casement. 
Oliver,  however,  did  not  abandon  his  purpose.  He 
broke  off  particles  of  mortar  from  the  gable  of  the  cow- 
house and  threw  them  cautiously  against  the  window. 
No  notice  was  taken  of  the  first  or  the  second  particle 
that  dickered  against  a  pane ;  but  at  the  third  a  shadow 
appeared  at  the  window,  as  though  Judith  had  come  to 
the  casement  to  look  out.  Oliver  was  convinced  that 
he  could  be  seen,  as  he  was  on  the  very  summit  of  the 
gable,  and  he  raised  his  hands  and  arms  to  ensure  atten- 
tion. 

Siiddenly  the  shadow  was  withdrawn.  Then  hastily 
he  drew  forth  a  scrap  of  paper,  on  which  he  had  Avrit- 
ten  a  few  words  before  he  left  his  father's  house,  in 
the  hopes  of  obtaining  a  chance  of  passing  it  to  Judith, 
through  Jamie,  or  by  bribing  a  servant.  This  he  now 
wrapped  round  a  bit  of  stone  and  fastened  it  with  a 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  319 

thread.  Next  moment  the  casement  was  opened  and 
the  shadow  reappeared. 

"Back!"  whispered  Oliver,  sufficiently  loud  to  be 
heard,  and  he  dexterously  threw  the  stone  and  the  letter 
through  the  open  window. 

Next  moment  the  casement  was  shut  and  the  curtains 
were  drawn. 

He  waited  for  full  a  quarter  qf  an  hour  but  no  answer 
was  returned. 


CHAPTEK  XLIII. 

THE   SECOND  TIME. 

No  sooner  had  Oliver  thrown  the  stone  with  note  tied 
round  it  into  Judith's  room  through  the  window,  than 
he  descended  from  a  position  which  he  esteemed  too 
conspicuous  should  anyone  happen  to  be  about  in  the 
night  near  the  house.  He  ensconced  himself  beneath 
the  cow-shed  wall  in  the  shadow,  where  concealed,  but 
was  ready  should  the  casement  open  to  step  forth  and 
show  himself. 

He  had  not  been  there  many  minutes  before  he  heard 
steps  and  voices,  one  of  which  he  immediately  recognized 
as  that  of  Cruel  Coppinger.  Oliver  had  not  been  suffi- 
ciently long  in  the  neighborhood  to  know  the  men  in  it 
by  their  voices,  but  looking  round  the  corner  of  the  wall 
he  saw  two  figures  against  the  horizon,  one  with  hands 
in  his  pockets,  and  by  the  general  slouch,  he  thought 
that  he  recognized  the  sexton  of  S.  Enodoc. 

"  The  Black  Prince  will  be  in  before  long,"  said  Cop- 
pinger.  "I  mean  next  week  or  fortnight,  and  I  must 
have  the  goods  shored  here,  this  time.  She  will  stand 
off  Porth-leze,  and  mind  you  get  information  conveyed 
to  the  captain  of  the  coastguard  that  she  will  run  her 
cargo  there.  Remember  that.  We  must  have  a  clear 
coast  here.  The  stores  are  empty  and  must  be  refilled." 

"  Yes,  your  honor." 

"You  have  furnished  him  with  the  key  to  the  sig- 
nals ? " 

"Yes,  Cap'n." 

"  And  from  Porth-leze  there  are  to  be  signals  to  the 
Black  Prince  to  come  on  here — but  so  that  they  may  be 
read  the  other  way — you  understand  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Cap'n." 

"  And  what  do  they  give  you  every  time  you  carry 
them  a  bit  of  information  1 " 

"  A  shilling." 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  321 

"A  munificent  government  payment!  and  what  did 
they  give  you  for  the  false  code  of  signals  ?  " 

'•  Half  a  crown." 

"  Then  here  is  half  a  guinea— and  a  crown  for  every  lie 
you  impose  on  them." 

Then  Coppinger  and  the  sexton  went  further.  As  soon 
as  Oliver  thought  he  could  escape  unobserved  he  with- 
drew and  returned  to  Polzeath. 

Next  day  he  had  a  talk  with  his  father. 

"  I  have  had  opinions,  in  Bristol,"  said  he,  relative  to 
the  position  of  Judith." 

"  From  whom  ?  " 

"  From  lawyers." 

"  Well— and  what  did  they  say  ?  " 

"  One  said  one  thing-  and  one  another.  I  stated  the 
case  of  her  marriage,  its  incompletion,  the  unsigned 
register,  and  one  opinion  was  that  nevertheless  she  was 
Mrs.  Coppinger/  But  another  opinion  was  that,  in  con- 
sequence of  the  incompleteness  of  the  marriage,  it  was 
none— she  was  Miss  Trevisa.  Father,  before  I  went  to 
the  barristers  and  obtained  their  opinions,  I  was  as  wise 
as  I  am  now,  for  I  knew  then,  what  I  know  now,  that  she 
is  either  Mrs.  Coppinger,  or  else  that  she  is  Miss  Tre- 
visa." 

"  I  could  have  told  you  as  much." 

"  It  seems  to  me — but  I  may  be  uncharitable,"  said 
Oliver,  grimly,  "  that  the  opinion  given  was  this  way 
or  that  way  according  as  I  showed  myself  interested 
for  the  legality  or  against  the  legality  of  the  mar- 
riage. Both  of  those  to  whom  I  applied  regarded  the 
case  as  interesting  and  deserving  of  being  thrashed  out 
in  a  court  of  law,  and  gave  their  opinions  so  avs  to  induce 
me  to  embark  in  a  suit.  You  understand  what  I  mean, 
father  ?  When  I  seemed  urgent  that  the  marriage  should 
be  pronounced  none  at  all,  then  the  verdict  of  the  con- 
sulting barrister  was  that  it  was  no  marriage  at  all,  and 
very  good  reasons  he  was  able  to  produce  to  show  that. 
But  when  I  let  it  be  supposed  that  my  object  was  to  get 
this  marriage  established  against  certain  parties  keenly 
interested  in  disputing  it,  I  got  an  opinion  that  it  was  a 
good  and  legal  marriage,  and  very  good  reasons  were 
produced  to  sustain  this  conclusion." 

"  I  could  have  told  you  as  much — and  this  has  cost  you 
money ! " 


322  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

'  Yes — naturally." 

'  And  left  you  without  any  satisfaction  1 " 

'Yes." 

'  No  satisfaction  is  to  be  got  out  of  law — that  is  why  I 
took  to  stuffing  birds." 

'  What  is  that  noise  at  the  door  ?  "  asked  Oliver. 

'  There  is  some  one  trying  to  come  in,  and  fumbling  at 
the  hasp,"  said  his  father. 

Oliver  went  to  the  door  and  opened  it — to  find  Jamie 
there,  trembling,  white,  and  apparently  about  to  faint. 
He  could  not  speak,  but  he  held  out  a  note  to  Oliver. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ? "  asked  the  young 
man." 

The  boy,  however,  did  not  answer,  but  ran  to  Mr.  Men- 
aida,  and  crouched  behind  him. 

"  He  has  been  frightened,"  said  the  old  man.  "  Leave 
him  alone.  He  will  come  round  presently  and  I  will 
give  him  a  drop  of  spirits  to  rouse  him  up.  What  letter 
is  that  ?  " 

Oliver  looked  at  the  little  note  given  him.  It  had 
been  sealed,  but  torn  open  afterward.  It  was  addressed 
to  him,  and  across  the  address  was  written  in  bold, 
coarse  letters  with  a  pencil,  "  Seen  and  passed.  C.  C." 
Oliver  opened  the  letter  and  read  as  follows : 

"  I  pray  you  leave  me.  Do  not  trouble  yourself  about 
me.  Nothing  can  now  be  done  for  me.  My  great  con- 
cern is  for  Jamie.  But  I  entreat  you  to  be  very  cautious 
about  yourself  where  you  go.  You  are  in  danger.  Your 
life  is  threatened,  and  you  do  not  know  it.  I  must  not 
explain  myself,  but  I  warn  you.  Go  out  of  the  country 
—that  would  be  best.  Go  back  to  Portugal.  I  shall  not 
be  at  ease  in  my  mind  till  I  know  that  you  are  gone,  and 
gone  unhurt.  My  dear  love  to  Mr.  Menaida — Judith." 

The  hand  that  had  written  this  letter  had  shaken,  the 
letters  were  hastily  and  imperfectly  formed.  Was  this 
the  hand  of  Judith  who  had  taught  Jamie  caligraphy, 
had  written  out  his  copies  as  neatly  and  beautifully  as 
copper-plate  ? 

Judith  had  sent  him  this  answer  by  her  brother,  and 
Jamie  had  been  stopped,  forced  to  deliver  up  the  missive, 
which  Coppinger  had  opened  and  read.  Oliver  did  not 
for  a  moment  doubt  ivhence  the  danger  sprang  with 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  323 

which  he  was  menaced.  Copping-er  had  suffered  the 
warning-  to  be  conveyed  to  him  with  contemptuous  in- 
differenc"e — it  was  as  though  he  had  scored  across  the 
letter — "  Be  forewarned,  take  what  precautions  you  will 
—you  shall  not  escape  me." 

The  first  challenge  had  come  from  old  Menaida,  but 
Coppinger  passed  over  that  as  undeserving  of  attention, 
but  he  proclaimed  his  readiness  to  cross  swords  with  the 
young  man.  And  Oliver  could  i;ot  deny  that  he  had  given 
occasion  for  this.  Without  counting-  the  cost,  without 
considering  the  risk ;  nay,  further,  without  weig-hing-  the 
right  and  wrong-  in  the  matter,  Oliver  had  allowed  him- 
self to  slip  into  terms  of  some  familiarity  with  Judith, 
harmless  enough  were  she  unmarried,  but  hardly  calcu- 
lated to  be  so  regarded  by  a  husband.  They  had  come 
to  consider  each  other  as  cousins,  or  they  had  pretended 
so  to  consider  each  other,  so  as  to  justify  a  half -affection- 
ate, half -intimate  association,  and  before  he  was  aware  of 
it  Oliver  had  lost  his  heart.  He  could  not  and  he  would 
not  regard  Judith  as  the  wife  of  Coppinger,  because  he 
knew  that  she  absolutely  refused  to  be  so  regarded  by 
him,  by  herself,  by  his  father,  thoug-h  by  appearing1  at 
the  ball  with  Coppinger,  by  living  in  his  house,  she 
allowed  the  world  to  so  consider  her.  Was  she  his  wife  ? 
He  could  not  suppose  it  when  she  had  refused  to  con- 
clude the  marriage  ceremony,  when  there  was  no  docu- 
mentary evidence  for  the  marriag-e.  Let  the  question 
be  mooted  in  a  court  of  law ;  what  could  the  witnesses 
say,  but  that  she  had  fainted,  and  that  all  the  latter  por- 
tion of  the  ceremony  had  been  performed  over  her  when 
unconscious,  and  that  on  her  recovery  of  her  faculties 
she  had  resolutely  persisted  in  resistance  to  the  affixing- 
of  her  signature  to  the  register. 

With  respect  to  Judith's  feelings  toward  himself  Oliver 
was  ignorant.  She  had  taken  pleasure  in  his  society, 
because  he  had  made  himself  agreeable  to  her,  and  his 
company  was  a  relief  to  her  after  the  solitude  of  Pen- 
tyre  and  the  association  there  with  persons  with  whom 
she  was  wholly  out  of  sympathy. 

His  quarrel  with  Coppinger  had  shifted  ground.  At 
first  he  had  resolved,  should  occasion  offer,  to  conclude 
with  him  the  contest  begnii  on  the  wreck,  and  to  chas- 
tise him  for  his  conduct  on  that  night.  Now,  he  thought 
little  of  that  cause  of  resentment,  he  desired  to  punish 


324  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

him  for  having"  been  the  occasion  of  so  much  misery  to 
Judith.  He  could  not  now  drive  from  his  head  the 
scene  of  the  girl's  wan  face  at  the  window,  looking-  up 
at  the  moon. 

Oliver  would  shrink  from  doing-  anything-  dishonor- 
able, but  it  did  not  seem  to  him  that  there  could  be 
aught  wrong-  and  unbecoming-  a  g-entleman  in  endeavor- 
ing- to  snatch  this  hapless  child  from  the  claws  of  the 
wild  beast  that  had  struck  it  down. 

"  No,  father,"  said  he  hastily,  as  the  old  fellow  wras 
pouring-  out  a  pretty  strong-  dose  of  his  great  specific 
and  about  to  administer  it  to  Jamie,  "no  father,  it  is 
not  that  the  boy  wants ;  and  remember  how  strongly 
Judith  objects  to  his  being  given  spirits." 

"  Dear,  dear ! "  exclaimed  Uncle  Zachie,  "  to  be  sure 
she  does,  and  she  made  me  promise  not  to  give  him  any. 
But  this  is  an  exceptional  case." 

"  Let  him  come  to  me,  I  will  soothe  him.  The  child 
is  frightened,  or  stay,  get  him  to  help  you  with  that 
kittiwake.  Jamie,  father  can't  get  the  bird  to  look  nat- 
ural ;  his  head  does  not  seem  to  me  to  be  right.  Did  you 
ever  see  a  kittiwake  turn  his  neck  in  that  fashion  ?  I 
wish  you  would  put  your  fingers  to  the  throat,  and  bend  it 
about,  and  set  the  wadding  where  it  ought  to  be.  Father 
and  I  can't  agree  about  it." 

"  It  is  wrong,"  said  Jamie.  "  Look,  this  is  the  way." 
His  mind  was  diverted.  Always  volatile,  always  ready 
to  be  turned  from  one  thing  to  another,  Oliver  had  suc- 
ceeded in  interesting  him,  and  had  made  him  forget  for 
a  moment  the  terrors  that  had  shaken  him. 

After  Jamie  had  been  in  the  house  for  half  an  hour, 
Oliver  advised  him  to  return  to  the  Glaze.  He  would 
give  him  no  message,  verbal  or  written.  But  the 
thought  of  having  to  return  renewed  the  poor  child's 
fears,  and  Oliver  could  hardly  allay  them  by  promising 
to  accompany  him  part  of  the  way. 

Oliver  was  careful  not  to  speak  to  him  on  the  subject 
of  his  alarm,  but  he  gathered  from  his  disjointed  talk 
that  Judith  had  given  him  the  note  and  impressed  on 
him  that  it  was  to  be  delivered  as  secretly  as  possible ; 
that  Coppinger  had  intercepted  him,  and  suspecting 
something,  had  threatened  and  frightened  him  into 
divulging  the  truth.  Then  Captain  Cruel  had  read  the 
letter,  scored  over  it  some  words  in  pencil,  given  it  back 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF   THE  SEA.  325 

to  him,  and  ordered  him  to  fulfil  his  commission,  to  de- 
liver the  note. 

"Look  you  here,  Jamie,"  was  Mr.  Menaida's  parting 
injunction  to  the  lad  as  he  left  the  house,  "  there's  no 
reason  for  you  to  be  idle  when  at  Pentyre.  You  can 
make  friends  with  some  of  the  men  and  get  birds  shot. 
I  don't  advise  your  having-  a  gun,  you  are  not  careful 
enough.  But  if  they  shoot  birds  you  may  amuse  your 
leisure  in  skinning  them,  and  I  gave  Judith  arsenic  for 
you.  She  keeps  it  in  her  workbox,  and  will  let  you  have 
sufficient  for  your  purpose  as  you  need  it.  I  would  not 
give  it  to  you,  as  it  might  be  dangerous  in  your  hands 
as  a  gun.  It  is  a  deadly  poison,  and  with  carelessness 
you  might  kill  a  man.  But  go  to  Judith  when  you  have 
a  skin  ready  to  dress  and  she  will  see  that  you  have  suf- 
ficient for  the  dressing*.  There,  good-by,  and  bring*  me 
some  skins  shortly." 

Oliver  accompanied  the  boy  as  far  as  the  gate  that 
led  into  the  lane  between  the  walls  enclosing  the  fields 
of  the  Pentyre  estate.  Jamie  pressed  him  to  come  far- 
ther, but  this  the  young:  man  would  not  do.  He  bade  the 
Eoor  lad  farewell,  bid  him  divert  himself  as  his  father 
ad  advised,  with  bird  stuffing',  and  remained  at  the  gate 
watching  him  depart.  The  boy's  face  and  feebleness 
touched  and  stirred  the  heart  of  Oliver.  The  face  re- 
minded him  so  strongly  of  his  twin  sister,  but  it  was  the 
shadow,  the  pale  shadow  of  Judith  only,  without  the  in- 
telligence, the  character,  and  the  force.  And  the  help- 
lessness of  the  child,  his  desolation,  his  condition  of 
nervous  alarm  roused  the  young  man's  pity.  He  was 
startled  by  a  shot,  that  struck  his  gray  hat  simul- 
taneously with  the  report. 

In  a  moment  he  sprang  over  the  hedge  in  the  direc- 
tion whence  the  smoke  rose,  and  came  upon  Cruel  Cop- 
pinger  with  a  gun. 

"  Oh,  you  !  "  said  the  latter,  with  a  sneer,  "I  thought 
I  was  shooting  a  rabbit." 

"  This  is  the  second  time,"  said  Oliver. 

"  The  first,"  was  Coppinger's  correction. 

"Not  so — the  second  time  you  have  levelled  at  me. 
The  first  was  on  the  wreck  when  I  struck  up  your  hand." 

Coppinger  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  It  is  immaterial. 
The  third  time  is  lucky,  folks  say." 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other  with  hostility. 


326  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

"  Your  father  has  insulted  me,"  said  Coppinger.  "  Are 
you  ready  to  take  up  his  cause  ?  I  will  not  fight  an  old 
fool." 

"  I  am  ready  to  take  up  his  cause,  mine  also,  and  that 
of—  "  Oliver  checked  himself. 

"  And  that  of  whom  ?  "  asked  Coppinger,  white  with 
rage,  and  in  a  quivering-  voice. 

Ci  The  cause  of  my  father  and  mine  own  will  suffice," 
said  Oliver. 

"And  when  shall  we  meet?"  asked  Captain  Cruel, 
leaning  on  his  gun  and  glaring  at  his  young  antagonist 
over  it. 

"  When  and  where  suits  me,"  answered  Oliver,  coldly. 

"  And  when  and  where  may  that  be  ?  " 

"  When  and  where  ! — when  and  where  I  can  come  sud- 
denly on  you  as  you  came  on  me  upon  the  wreck.  With 
snch  as  you — one  does  not  observe  the  ordinary  rules." 

ul  Very  well,"  shouted  Coppinger.  "  When  and  where 
suits  you,  and  when  and  where  suits  me — that  is,  when- 
ever we  meet  again — we  meet  finally." 

Then  each  turned  and  strode  away. 


CHAPTEB  XLIY. 

THE  WHIP  FALLS. 

For  many  days  Judith  had  been  as  a  prisoner  in  the 
house,  in  her  room.  Some  one  had  spoken  to  Coppin- 
g-er  and  had  roused  his  suspicions,  excited  his  jealousy. 
He  had  forbidden  her  visits  to  Polzeath  ;  and  to  prevent 
communication  between  her  and  the  Menaidas,  father 
and  son,  he  had  removed  Jamie  to  Pentyre  Glaze. 

Angry  and  jealous  he  was.  Time  had  passed,  and  still 
he  had  not  advanced  a  step,  rather  he  had  lost  ground. 
Judith's  hopes  that  he  was  not  what  he  had  been  repre- 
sented, were  dashed.  However  plausible  might  be  his 
story  to  account  for  the  jewels,  she  did  not  believe  it. 

Why  was  Judith  not  submissive?  Coppinger  could 
now  only  conclude  that  she  had  formed  an  attachment 
for  Oliver  Menaida — for  that  young-  man  whom  she 
singled  out,  greeted  with  a  smile,  and  called  by  his 
Christian  name.  He  had  heard  of  how  she  had  made 
daily  visits  to  the  house  of  his  father,  how  Oliver  had 
been  seen  attending  her  home,  and  his  heart  foamed 
with  rage  and  jealousy. 

She  had  no  desire  to  go  anywhere,  now  that  she  was 
forbidden  to  go  to  Polzeath,  and  when  she  knew  that  she 
was  watched.  She  would  not  descend  to  the  hall  and  mix 
with  the  company  often  assembled  there,  and  though  she 
occasionally  went  there  when  Coppinger  was  alone,  took 
her  knitting  and  sat  by  the  fire,  and  attempted  to  make 
conversation  about  ordinary  matters,  yet  his  temper,  his 
outbursts  of  rancor,  his  impatience  of  every  other  topic 
save  their  relations  to  each  other,  and  his  hatred  of  the 
Menaidas,  made  it  intolerable  for  her  to  be  with  him 
alone,  and  she  desisted  from  seeking  the  hall.  This  in- 
censed him,  and.  he  occasionally  went  upstairs,  sought 
her  out  and  insisted  on  her  coming  down.  She  would 
obey,  but  some  outbreak  would  speedily  drive  her  from 
his  presence  again. 

Their  relations  were  more  strained  than  ever.    His 


328  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

love  for  her  had  lost  the  complexion  of  love  and  had  as- 
sumed that  of  jealousy.  His  tenderness  and  gentleness 
toward  her  had  been  fed  by  hope,  and  when  hope  died 
they  vanished.  Even  that  reverence  for  her  innocence 
and  the  respect  for  her  character  that  he  had  shown 
was  dissipated  by  the  stormy  gusts  of  jealousy. 

Miss  Trevisa  was  no  more  a  help  and  stay  to  the  poor 
girl  than  she  had  been  previously.  She  was  soured 
and  embittered,  for  her  ambition  to  be  out  of  the  house 
and  in  Othello  Cottage  had  been  frustrated.  Coppin- 
ger  would  not  let  her  go  till  he  and  his  wife  had  come 
to  more  friendly  terms.  On  her  chimney -piece  were 
two  bunches  of  lavender,  old  lavender  from  the  recto- 
ry garden  of  the  preceding  year.  They  had  become  so 
dry  that  the  seeds  fell  out,  and  they  no  longer  exhaled 
scent  unless  pressed. 

Judith  stood  at  her  chimney-piece  pressing  her  finger 
on  the  dropped  seeds,  and  picking  them  up  by  this 
means  to  throw  them  into  the  small  fire  that  smoul- 
dered in  the  grate.  At  first  she  went  on  listlessly  pick- 
ing up  a  seed  and  casting  it  into  the  fire,  actuated  by 
her  innate  love  of  order,  without  much  thought — rather 
without  any  thought — for  her  mind  was  engaged  over  the 
letter  of  Oliver  and  his  visit  the  previous  night  outside. 
But  after  a  while,  while  thus  gathering  the  grains  of 
lavender,  she  came  to  associate  them  with  her  trouble, 
and  as  she  thought— "Is  there  any  escape  for  me,  any 
happiness  in  store  "?  " — she  picked  up  a  seed  and  cast  it 
into  the  fire.  Then  she  asked :  "  Is  there  any  other  es- 
cape for  me  than  to  die — to  die  and  be  with  dear  papa 
again,  now  not  in  S.  Enodoc  Rectory  garden,  but  in  the 
garden  of  Paradise  ? "  And  again  .she  picked  up  and 
cast  away  a  grain.  Then,  as  she  touched  her  finger-tip 
with  her  tongue  and  applied  it  to  another  lavender  seed, 
she  said :  "  Or  must  this  go  on  —  this  nightmare  of 
wretchedness,  of  persecution,  of  weariness  to  death  with- 
out dying,  for  years  ? "  And  she  cast  away  the  seed 
shudderingly.  "  Or  " — and  again,  now  without  touching 
her  finger  with  her  tongue,  as  though  the  last  thought 
had  contaminated  it — "  or  will  he  finally  break  and  sub- 
due me,  destroy  me  and  Jamie,  soul  and  body  ?  "  Shiv- 
ering at  the  thought  she  hardly  dare  to  touch  a  seed, 
but  forced  herself  to  do  so,  raised  one,  and  hastily  shook 
it  from  her. 


IN  THE  ROAE   OF  THE  SEA.  329 

Thus  she  continued  ringing1  the  change,  never  formu- 
lating any  scheme  of  happiness  for  herself — certainly,  in 
her  white,  guileless  mind,  not  in  any  way  associating- 
Oliver  with  happiness,  save  as  one  who  might  by  some 
means  effect  her  discharge  from  this  bondage — But  he 
was  not  linked,  not  woven  up  with  any  thought  of  the 
future. 

The  wind  dickered  at  the  casement.  She  had  a  win- 
dow toward  the  sea  ;  another,  opposite,  toward  the  land. 
Her's  was  a  transparent  chamber,  and  her  mind  had 
been  transparent.  Only  now,  timidly,  doubtfully,  not 
knowing-  herself  why,  did  she  draw  a  blind  down  over 
her  soul,  as  though  there  were  something  there  that  she 
would  not  have  all  the  world  see,  and  yet  which  was  in 
itself  innocent.  Then  a  new  fear  woke  up  in  her,  lest 
she  should  go  mad.  Day  after  day,  night  after  night, 
was  spent  in  the  same  revolution  of  distressing  thought, 
in  the  same  bringing  up  and  reconsidering  of  old  diffi- 
culties, questions  concerning-  Coppinger,  questions  con- 
cerning- Jamie,  questions  concerning  her  own  power  of 
endurance  and  resistance.  Was  it  possible  that  this 
could  g-o  on  without  driving  her  mad  I 

"  One  thing  I  see,"  murmured  she ;  "  all  steps  are 
broken  away  under  me  on  the  stair,  and  one  thing-  alone 
remains  for  me  to  cling"  to — one  only  thing1— my  under- 
standing-. That" — she  put  her  hands  to  her  head — 
"  that  is  all  I  have  left.  My  name  is  g-one  from  me.  My 
friends  I  am  separated  from.  My  brother  may  not  be 
with  me.  My  happiness  is  all  g-one.  My  health  may 
break  down,  but  to  a  clear  understanding  I  must  hold ; 
if  that  fails  me  I  am  lost — lost  indeed." 

"  Lost  indeed !  "  exclaimed  Coppinger,  entering-  ab- 
ruptly. He  had  caught  her  last  words.  He  came  in  in 
white  rag-e,  blinded  and  forgetful  in  his  passion,  and 
with  his  hat  on.  There  was  a  day  when  he  entered  the 
boudoir  with  his  head  covered,  and  Judith,  without  a 
word,  by  the  mere- force  of  her  character  shining-  out  of 
her  clear  eyes,  had  made  him  retreat  and  uncover.  It 
was  not  so  now.  She  was  careless  whether  he  wore  the 
hat  or  not  when  he  entered  her  room.  "  So !  "  said  he, 
in  a  voice  that  foamed  out  of  his  mouth,  "  letters  pass 
between  you !  Letters — I  have  read  that  you  sent.  I 
stayed  your  messenger." 

"  Well,"  answered  Judith,  with  such  composure  as  she 


330  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

could  muster.  She  had  already  passed  through  several 
stormy  scenes  with  him,  and  knew  that'  her  only  secur- 
ity lay  in  self-restraint.  "  There  was  naught  in  it  that 
you  might  not  read.  What  did  I  say  ?  That  my  con- 
dition was  fixed — that  none  could  alter  it ;  that  is  true. 
That  my  great  care  and  sorrow  of  heart  is  for  Jamie ; 
that  is  trae.  That  Oliver  Menaida  has  been  threatened ; 
that  also  is  true.  I  have  heard  you  speak  words  against 
him  of  no  good." 

"  I  will  make  good  my  words." 

"  I  wrote,  and  hoped  to  save  him  from  a  danger,  and 
you  from  a  crime." 

Coppinger  laughed.  "  I  have  sent  on  the  letter.  Let 
him  take  what  precautions  he  will.  I  will  chastise  him. 
No  man  ever  crossed  me  yet  but  was  brought  to  bite  the 
dust." 

"  He  has  not  harmed  you,  Captain  Coppinger." 

"  He !  Can  I  endure  that  you  should  call  him  by  his 
Christian  name,  while  I  am  but  Captain  Coppinger? 
That  you  should  seek  him  out,  laugh,  and  talk,  and  flirt 
with  him  — 

"  Captain  Coppinger  !  " 

"Yes,"  raged  he,  "always  Captain  Coppinger,  or 
Captain  Cruel,  and  he  is  dear  Oliver !  sweet  Oliver ! " 
He  well-nigh  suffocated  in  his  fury. 

Judith  drew  herself  up  and  folded  her  arms.  She  had 
in  one  hand  a  sprig  of  lavender  from  which  she  had  been 
shaking1  the  over-ripe  grains.  She  turned  deadly  white. 

"  Give  me  up  his  letter.     Your's  was  an  answer !  " 

"  I  will  give  it  to  you,"  answered  Judith,  and  she  went 
to  her  workbox,  raised  the  lid,  then  the  little  tray  con- 
taining reels,  and  from  beneath  it  extracted  a  crumpled 
scrap  of  paper.  She  handed  it  calmly,  haughtily  to 
Coppinger,  then  folded  her  arms  again,  one  hand  still 
holding  the  bunch  of  lavender. 

The  letter  was  short.  Coppinger's  hand  shook  with 
passion  so  that  he  could  hardly  hold  it  with  sufficient 
steadiness  to  read  it.  It  ran  as  follows  : 

"  I  must  know  your  wishes,  dear  Judith.  Do  you  in- 
tend to  remain  in  that  den  of  wreckers  and  cut-throats  ? 
or  do  you  desire  that  your  friends  should  bestir  them- 
selves to  obtain  your  release  ?  Tell  us,  in  one  word, 
what  to  do,  or  rather  what  are  your  wishes,  and  we  will 
do  what  we  can." 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  331 

"  Well !  "  said  Cpppinger,  looking-  up.  "  And  your 
answer  is  to  the  point — you  wish  to  stay." 

"  I  did  not  answer  thus.     I  said — leave  me." 

"  And  never  intended  that  he  should  leave  you,"  raged 
Coppinger.  He  came  close  up  to  her  with  his  eyes  glit- 
tering-, his  nostrils  distended  and  snorting  and  his  hands 
clinched. 

Judith  loosened  her  arms,  and  with  her  rig-lit  hand 
swept  a  space  before  her  with  the  bunch  of  lavender.  He 
should  not  approach  her  within  arm's  length ;  the  laven- 
der marked  the  limit  beyond  which  he  might  not  draw 
near. 

"  Now,  hear  me  !  "  said  Coppinger.  "  I  have  been  too 
indulgent.  I  have  humored  you  as  a  spoilt  child.  Be- 
cause you  willed  this  or  that,  I  have  submitted.  But  the 
time  for  humoring  is  over.  I  can  endure  this  suspense 
no  longer.  Either  you  are  my  wife  or  you  are  not.  I 
will  suffer  no  trifling  over  this  any  longer.  You  have  as 
it  were  put  your  lips  to  mine,  and  then  sharply  drawn 
them  away— and  now  offer  them  to  another." 

"  Silence  !  "  exclaimed  Judith.     "  You  insult  me." 

"  You  insult  and  outrage  me  !  "  said  Coppinger,  "when 
you  run  from  your  home  to  chatter  with  and  walk  with 
this  Oliver,  and  never  deign  to  speak  to  me.  When  he 
is  your  dear  Oliver,  and  I  am  only  Captain  Coppinger ; 
when  you  have  smiles  for  him  you  have  black  looks  for  me. 
Is  not  that  insulting,  galling,  stinging,  maddening  1 " 

Judith  was  silent.  Her  throat  swelled.  There  was 
some  truth  in  what  he  said ;  but,  in  the  sight  of  heaven, 
she  was  guiltless  of  ever  having  thought  of  wrong,  of 
having  supposed  for  a  moment  that  what  she  had  allowed 
herself  had  not  been  harmless. 

"  You  are  silent,"  said  Coppinger.  "  Now  hearken  ! 
With  this  moment  I  turn  over  the  page  of  humoring 
your  fancies  and  yielding  to  your  follies.  I  have  never 
pressed  you  to  sign  that  register — I  have  trusted  to  your 
good  sense  and  good  feeling.  You  cannot  go  back. 
Even  if  you  desire  it,  you  cannot  undo  what  has  been 
done.  Mine  you  are,  mine  you  shall  be — mine  wholly 
and  always.  Do  you  hear  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  agree  ?  " 

"  No." 

He  was  silent  a  moment,  with  clinched  teeth  and  hands 


332  77V    THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SKA. 

looking-  at  her,  with  eyes  that  smote  her,  as  though  they 
were  bullets. 

"  Very  well,"  said  he.     "  Your  answer  is  no." 

"  My  answer  is  no,  so  help  me  God." 

"Very  well,"  said  he,  between  his  teeth.  "  Then  we 
open  a  new  chapter." 

"  What  chapter  is  that *  " 

"  It  is  that  of  compulsion.  That  of  solicitation  is 
closed." 

"  You  cannot,  whilst  I  have  my  senses.     What !  "     She 
saw  that  he  had  a  great  riding1- whip  in  his  hand.    "  What 
—the  old  story  again  ?    You  will  strike  me  ?  " 
.  "  No — not  you.     I  will  lash  you  into   submission— 
through  Jamie." 

She  uttered  a  cry,  dropped  the  lavender,  that  became 
scattered  before  her,  and  held  up  her  hands  in  mute  en- 
treaty. 

"I  owe  him  chastisement.  I  have  owed  it  him  for 
many  a  day — and  to-day  above  all — as  a  go-between." 

Judith  could  not  speak.  She  remained  as  one  frozen 
— in  one  attitude,  in  one  spot,  speechless.  She  could 
not  stir,  she  could  not  utter  a  word  of  entreaty,  as  Cop- 
pinger  left  the  room. 

In  another  minute  a  loud  and  shrill  cry  reached  her 
ears  from  the  court  into  which  one  of  her  windows 
looked.  She  knew  the  cry.  It  was  that  of  her  twin 
brother,  and  it  thrilled  through  her  heart,  quivered  in 
every  nerve  of  her  whole  frame. 

She  could  hear  what  followed  ;  but  she  could  not  stir. 
She  was  rooted  by  her  feet  to  the  floor,  but  she  writhed 
there.  It  was  as  though  every  blow  dealt  the  boy  out- 
side fell  on  her :  she  bent,  she  quivered,  her  lips  parted, 
but  cry  she  could  not,  the  sweat  rolled  off  her  brow ;  she 
beat  with  her  hands  in  the  air.  Now  she  thrilled  up 
with  uplifted  arms,  on  tip-toe,  then  sank — it  was  like  a 
flame  flickering-  in  a  socket  before  it  expires :  it  dances, 
it  curls,  it  shoots  up  in  a  tong-ue,  it  sinks  into  a  bead  of 
light,  it  rolls  on  one  side,  it  sways  to  the  other,  it  leaps 
from  the  wick  hig-h  into  the  air,  and  drops  ag-ain.  It  was 
so  with  Judith — every  stroke  dealt,  every  scream  of  the 
tortured  boy,  every  toss  of  his  suffering  frame,  was  re- 
peated in  her  room,  by  her — in  supreme,  unspeaking 
anguish,  too  intense  for  sound  to  issue  from  her  con- 
tracted throat. 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  333 

Then  all  was  still,  and  Judith  had  sunk  to  her  knees 
on  the  scattered  lavender,  extending1  her  arms,  clasping1 
her  hands,  spreading1  them  ag-ain,  again  beating1  her 
palrns  together,  in  a  vagne,  unconscious  way,  as  if  in 
breathing1  she  could  not  g^aiii  breath  enough  without 
this  expansion  and  stretching1  forth  of  her  arms. 

But,  all  at  once,  before  her  stood  Coppinger,  the  whip 
in  his  hands. 

"  Well !  what  now  is  your  answer  1 " 

She  breathed  fast  for  some  moments,  laboring"  for  ex- 
pression. Then  she  reared  herself  up  and  tried  to  speak, 
but  could  not.  Before  her,  threshed  out  on  the  floor, 
were  the  lavender  seeds.  They  lay  thick  in  a  film  over 
the  boards  in  one  place.  She  put  her  fing-er  among1  them 
and  drew  No. 


CHAPTEE  XLV. 

GONE   FBOM  ITS  PLACE. 

There  are  persons,  they  are  not  many,  on  whom  Luck 
smiles  and  showers  gold.  Not  a  steady  daily  downpour 
of  money  but,  whenever  a  little  cloud  darkens  their  sky, 
that  same  little  cloud,  which  to  others  would  be  mere 
gloom,  opens  and  discharges  on  them  a  sprinkling  of 
gold  pieces. 

It  is  not  always  the  case  that  those  who  have  rich  rela- 
tives come  in  for  good  things  from  them.  In  many 
cases  there  are  such  on  whom  Luck  turns  her  back,  but  to 
those  of  whom  we  speak  the  rain  of  gold,  and  the  snow 
of  scrip  and  bonds  come  unexpectedly,  but  inevitably. 
Just  as  Pilatus  catches  every  cloud  that  drifts  over 
Switzerland,  so  do  they  by  some  fatality  catch  something 
out  of  every  trouble,  that  tends  materially  to  solace  their 
feelings,  lacerated  by  that  trouble.  But  not  so  only. 
These  little  showers  fall  to  them  from  relatives  they  have 
taken  110  trouble  to  keep  on  good  terms  with,  from 
acquaintances  whom  they  have  cut,  admirers  whose  good 
opinion  they  have  not  concerned  themselves  to  cultivate, 
friends  with  whom  they  have  quarrelled.  Gideon's 
fleece,  on  one  occasion,  gathered  to  itself  all  the  dew  that 
fell,  and  left  the  grass  of  the  field  around  quite  dry.  So 
do  these  fortunate  persons  concentrate  on  themselves, 
fortuitively  it  seems,  the  dew  of  richness  that  descends 
and  might  have,  ought  to  have,  dropped  elsewhere  ;  at  all 
events,  ought  to  have  been  more  evenly  and  impartially 
distributed.  Gideon's  fleece,  on  another  occasion  was 
dry,  when  all  the  glebe  was  dripping.  So  is  it  with 
certain  unfortunates,  Luck  never  favors  them.  What  they 
have  expected  and  counted  on  they  do  not  get,  it  is  di- 
verted, it  drops  round  about  them  on  every  side,  only  on 
them  it  never  falls. 

Now,  Miss  Trevisa  cannot  be  said  to  have  belonged  to 
either  of  these  classes.  To  the  latter  she  had  pertained 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  335 

till  suddenly,  from  a  quarter  quite  unregarded,  there 
came  down  on  her  a  very  satisfactory  little  splash.  Of 
relatives  that  were  rich  she  had  none,  because  she  had  no 
relatives  at  all.  Of  bosom  friends  she  had  none,  for  her 
bosom  was  of  that  unyielding  nature,  that  no  one  would 
like  to  be  taken  to  it.  But,  before  the  marriage  of  her 
brother,  and  before  he  became  rector  of  S.  Enodoc,  when 
he  was  but  a  poor  curate,  she  had  been  companion  to  a 
spinster  lady,  Miss  Ceely,  near"  S.  Austell.  Now  the 
companion  is  supposed  to  be  a  person  without  an  opin- 
ion of  her  own,  always  standing  in  a  cringing  position 
to  receive  the  opinion  of  her  mistress,  then  to  turn  it 
over  and  give  it  forth  as  her  own.  She  is,  if  she  be  a 
proper  companion,  a  mere  echo  of  the  sentiments  of  her 
employer.  Moreover,  she  is  expected  to  be  amiable, 
never  to  resent  a  rude  word,  never  to  take  umbrage  at 
neglect,  always  to  be  ready  to  dance  attendance  on  her 
mistress,  and  with  enthusiasm  of  devotion,  real  or  sim- 
ulated, to  carry  out  her  most  absurd  wishes,  unreason- 
ingly.  But  Miss  Trevisa  had  been,  as  a  companion,  all 
that  a  companion  ought  not  to  be.  She  had  argued 
with  Miss  Ceely,  invariably,  had  crossed  her  opinions, 
had  grumbled  at  her  when  she  asked  that  anything 
might  be  done,  raised  difficulties,  piled  up  objections, 
blocked  the  way  to  whatever  Miss  Ceely  particularly  set 
the  heart  on  having  executed.  The  two  ladies  were 
always  quarrelling,  always  calling  each  other  names,  and 
it  was  a  marvel  to  the  relatives  of  Miss  Ceely  that  she 
and  her  companion  hung  together  for  longer  than  a 
month.  Nevertheless  they  did.  Miss  Trevisa  left  the 
old  lady  when  Mr.  Peter  Trevisa  became  rector  of  S.  Eno- 
doc, and  then  Miss  Ceely  obtained  in  her  place  quite 
an  ideal  companion,  a  very  mirror — she  had  but  to  look 
on  her  face,  smile,  and  a  smile  was  repeated,  weep,  and 
tears  came  in  the  mirror.  The  new  companion  grovelled 
at  her  feet,  licked  the  dust  off  her  shoes,  fawned  on  her 
hand,  ran  herself  off  her  legs  to  serve  her,  grew  gray 
under  the  misery  of  enduring  Miss  Ceely 's  jibes  and 
sneers  and  insults,  finally  sacrificed  her  health  in  nurs- 
ing her.  When  Miss  Ceely's  will  was  opened  it  was 
found  that  she  had  left  nothing — not  a  farthing  to  this 
obsequious  attendant,  but  had  bequeathed  fifteen  hun- 
dred pounds,  free  of  legacy  duty,  and  all  her  furniture  and 
her  house  to  Miss  Trevisa,  with  whom  she  had  not  kept 


336  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

up  correspondence  for  twenty-three  years.  It  really 
seemed  as  if  leathery,  rusty  Aunt  Dionyvsia,  from  being-  a 
dry  Gideon's  fleece,  were  about  to  be  turned  into  a  wet 
and  wringable  fleece.  No  one  was  more  astounded  than 
herself. 

It  was  now  necessary  that  Miss  Trevisa  should  go  to 
S.  Austell  and  see  after  what  had  come  to  her  thus  unso- 
licited and  unexpectedly.  All  need  for  her  to  remain  at 
Pentyre  was  at  an  end. 

Before  she  departed — not  finally,  but  to  see  about  the 
furniture  that  was  now  hers,  and  to  make  up  her  mind 
whether  to  keep  or  to  sell  it— she  called  Judith  to  her. 

That  day,  the  events  of  which  were  given  in  last  chap- 
ter, had  produced  a  profound  impression  on  Jamie.  He 
had  become  gloomy,  timid,  and  silent.  His  old  idle 
chatter  ceased.  He  clung  to  his  sister,  and  accompanied 
her  wherever  she  went ;  he  could  not  endure  to  be  with 
Coppinger.  When  he  heard  his  voice,  caug-ht  a  glimpse 
of  him,  he  ran  away  and  hid.  Jamie  had  been  humored 
as  a  child,  never  beaten,  scolded,  put  in  a  corner,  sent  to 
bed,  cut  off  his  pudding-,  but  the  rod  had  now  been  ap- 
plied to  his  back  and  his  first  experience  of  corporal 
punishment  was  the  cruel  and  vindictive  hiding  admin- 
istered, not  for  any  fault  he  had  committed  but  because 
he  had  done  his  sister's  bidding.  He  was  filled  with  ha- 
tred of  Coppinger,  mingled  with  fear,  and  when  alone  with 
Judith  would  break  out  into  exclamations  of  entreaty 
that  she  would  run  away  with  him,  and  of  detestation 
of  the  man  who  held  them  there,  as  it  were  prisoners. 

"  Ju,"  said  he,  "I  wish  he  were  dead.  I  hate  him. 
Why  doesn't  God  kill  him  and  set  us  free  ?  " 

At  another  time  he  said,  "  Ju,  dear !  You  do  not  love 
him."  "  I  wish  I  were  a  big  strong  man  like  Oliver,  and 
I  would  do  what  Captain  Cruel  did." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Captain  Cruel  shot  at  Oliver." 

"  This  was  the  first  tidings  Judith  had  heard  of  the 
attempt  on  Oliver's  life. 

"  He  is  a  mean  coward,"  said  Jamie.  "  He  hid  behind 
a  hedge  and  shot  at  him.  But  he  did  not  hurt  him." 

"  God  preserved  him,"  said  Judith. 

"  Why  does  not  God  preserve  us  ?  Why  did  God  let 
that  beast — 

"  Hush,  Jamie !  " 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  337 

"  I  will  not — that  wretch — beat  me  ?  Why  did  He  not 
send  lightning-  and  strike  him  dead  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,  darling.     We  must  wait  and  trust." 

"  I  am  tired  of  waiting  and  trusting.  If  I  had  a  gun 
I  would  not  shoot  birds,  I  would  go  behind  a  hedge  and 
shoot  Captain  Coppinger.  There  would  be  nothing 
wrong  in  that,  Ju  ?  " 

"  Yes  there  would.     It  would  be  a  sin." 

:'  Not  after  he  did  that  to  Oliver." 

"  I  would  never — never  love  you,  if  you  did  that." 

:'  You  would  always  love  me  whatever  I  did,"  said 
Jamie.  He  spoke  the  truth,  Judith  knew  it.  Her  eyes 
filled,  she  drew  the  boy  to  her  passionately  and  kissed 
his  golden  head. 

Then  carne  Aunt  Dionysia  and  summoned  her  into  her 
own  room.  Jamie  followed. 

"  Judith,"  began  Aunt  Dunes,  in  her  usual  hard  tones, 
and  with  the  same  frozen  face,  "  I  wish  you  particularly 
to  understand.  Look  here!  You  have  caused  me  an- 
noyance enough  while  I  have  been  here.  Now  I  shall 
have  .a  house  of  my  own  at  S.  Austell,  and  if  I  chose  to 
live  in  it  I  can.  If  I  do  not,  I  can  let  it,  and  live  at 
Othello  Cottage.  I  have  not  made  up  my  mind  what  to 
do.  Fifteen  hundred  pounds  is  a  dirty  little  sum,  and 
not  half  as  much  as  ought  to  have  been  left  me  for  all  I 
had  to  bear  from  that  old  woman.  I  am  glad  for  one 
thing  that  she  has  left  me  something,  though  not  much. 
I  should  have  despaired  of  her  salvation  had  she  not. 
However  her  heart  was  touched  at  the  last,  though  not 
touched  enough.  Now  what  I  want  you  to  understand 
is  this — it  entirely  depends  on  your  conduct  whether 
after  my  death  this  sum  of  fifteen  hundred  pounds  and  a 
beggarly  sum  of  about  five  hundred  I  have  of  my  own, 
comes  to  you  or  not.  As  long  as  this  nonsense  goes  on 
between  you  and  Captain  Coppinger — you  pretending 
you  are  not  married,  when  you  are,  there  is  no  security 
for  me  that  you  and  Jamie  may  not  come  tumbling  in 
upon  me  and  become  a  burden  to  me.  Captain  Cop- 
pinger will  not  endure  this  fooling  much  longer.  He 
can  take  advantage  of  your  mistake.  He  can  say — I  am 
not  married.  Where  is  the  evidence  ?  Produce  proof 
of  the  marriage  having  been  solemnized — and  then  he 
may  send  you  out  of  his  house  upon  the  downs  in  the 
cold.  What  would  you  be  then,  eh  ?  All  the  world 


338  7^  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

holds  you  to  be  Mrs.  Coppinger.  A  nice  state  of  affairs, 
if  it  wakes  up  one  morning  to  hear  that  Mrs.  Coppinger 
has  been  kicked  out  of  the  Glaze,  that  she  never  was  the 
wife.  What  will  the  world  say,  eh  ?  What  sort  of  name 
will  the  world  give  you,  when  you  have  lived  here  as  his 
wife." 

"  That  I  have  not/' 

"  Lived  here,  gone  to  balls  as  his  wife  when  you  were 
not.  What  will  the  world  call  you,  eh  ?  " 

Judith  was  silent,  holding  both  her  hands,  open 
against  her  bosom.  Jamie  beside  her,  looking  up  in  her 
face,  not  understanding  what  his  aunt  was  saying. 

"  Very  well — or  rather  very  ill ! "  continued  Miss 
Trevisa.  "  And  then  you  and  this  boy  here  will  come  to 
me  to  take  you  in,  come  and  saddle  yourselves  on  me, 
and  eat  up  my  little  fund.  That  is  what  will  be  the  end 
of  it,  if  you  remain  in  your  folly.  Go  at  once  to  the 
rector,  and  put  your  name  where  it  should  have  been  two 
months  ago,  and  your  position  is  secure,  he  cannot  drive 
you  away,  disgusted  at  your  stubbornness,  and  you  will 
relieve  me  of  a  constant  source  of  uneasiness.  It  is  not 
that  only,  but  I  must  care  for  the  good  name  of  Trevisa, 
which  you  happen  to  bear,  that  that  name  may  not  be 
trailed  in  the  dust.  The  common  sense  of  the  matter  is 
precisely  what  you  cannot  see.  If  you  are  not  Cop- 
pinger's  wife  you  should  not  be  here.  If  you  are  Cop- 
pinger's  wife,  then  your  name  should  be  in  the  register. 
Now  here  you  have  come.  You  have  appeared  in  public 
with  him.  You  have  but  one  course  open  to  you,  and 
that  is  to  secure  your  position  and  your  name  and  honor. 
You  cannot  undo  what  is  done,  but  you  can  complete 
what  is  done  insufficiently.  The  choice  between  alter- 
natives is  no  longer  before  you.  If  you  had  purposed  to 
withdraw  from  marriage,  break  off  the  engagement,  then 
you  should  not  have  come  on  to  Pentyre,  and  remained 
here.  As,  however,  you  did  this,  there  is  absolutely 
nothing  else  to  be  done,  but  to  sign  the  register.  Do 
you  hear  me  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  will  obey  1  " 

"  No." 

"  Pig-headed  fool,"  said  Miss  Trevisa.  "  Not  one 
penny  will  I  leave  you.  That  I  swear,  if  you  remain 
obstinate." 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  339 

"  Do  not  let  us  say  anything"  more  about  that,  aunt. 
Now  you  are  going  away,  is  there  anything-  connected 
with  the  house  you  wish  me  to  attend  to  ?  That  I  will 
do  readily.1' 

"  Yes,  there  are  several  things,"  growled  Miss  Trevisa, 
"  and,  first  of  all,  are  you  disposed  to  do  anything,  any 
common  little  kindness  for  the  man  whose  bread  you 
eat,  whose  roof  covers  you  1 " 

"  Yes,  aunt." 

"  Very  well,  then.  Captain  Coppinger  has  his  bowl 
of  porridge  every  morning.  I  suppose  he  was  accus- 
tomed to  it  before  he  came  into  these  parts,  and  he  cannot 
breakfast  without  it.  He  says  that  our  Cornish  maids 
cannot  make  porridge  properly,  and  I  have  been  accus- 
tomed to  see  to  it.  Either  it  is  lumpy,  or  it  is  watery, 
or  it  is  saltless.  Will  you  see  to  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,  aunt,  willingly." 

"  You  ought  to  know  how  to  make  porridge,  as  you  are 
more  than  half  Scottish." 

"  I  certainly  can  make  it.  Dear  papa  always  liked 
it." 

"  Then  you  will  attend  to  that.  If  you  are  too  high 
and  too  great  a  lady  to  put  your  hand  to  it  yourself, 
you  can  see  that  the  cook  manages  it  aright.  There  is  a 
new  girl  in  now,  who  is  a  fool." 

"  I  will  make  it  myself.     I  will  do  all  I  can  do." 

"  Then  take  the  keys.  Now  that  I  go,  you  must  be 
mistress  of  the  house.  But  for  your  folly,  I  might  have 
been  from  here,  and  in  my  own  house,  or  rather  in  that 
given  me  for  my  use,  Othello  Cottage.  I  was  to  have 
gone  there  directly  after  your  marriage,  I  had  furnished 
it,  and  made  it  comfortable,  and  then  you  took  to  your 
fantastic  notions,  and  hung  back,  and  refused  to  allow 
that  you  were  married,  and  so  I  had  to  stick  on  here  two 
months.  Here,  take  the  keys."  Miss  Trevisa  almost 
flung  them  at  her  niece.  "  Now  I  have  two  thousand 
pounds  of  my  own,  and  a  house  at  S.  Austell,  it  does  not 
become  me  to  be  doing  menial  service.  Take  the  keys. 
I  will  never  have  them  back." 

When  Miss  Trevisa  was  gone,  and  Judith  was  by  her- 
self at  night,  Jamie  being  asleep,  she  was  able  to  think 
over  calmly  what  her  aunt  had  said.  She  concerned  her- 
self not  the  least,  relative  to  the  promise  her  aunt  had 
made  of  leaving  her  two  thousand  pounds,  were  she  sub- 


340  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

missive,  and  her  threat  of  disinheriting  her,  should  she 
continue  recalcitrant,  but  she  did  feel -that  there  was 
truth  in  her  aunt's  words  when  she  said  that  she,  Judith, 
had  placed  herself  in  a  wrong"  position — but  it  was  a 
wrong-  position  into  which  she  had  been  forced,  she  had 
not  voluntarily  entered  it.  She  had,  indeed,  consented 
to  become  Coppinger's  wife,  but  when  she  found  that 
Coppinger  had  employed  Jamie  to  give  signals  that 
might  mislead  a  vessel  to  its  ruin  she  could  not  go  fur- 
ther to  meet  him.  Although  he  had  endeavored  to  clear 
himself  in  her  eyes,  she  did  not  believe  him.  She  Avas 
convinced  that  he  was  guilty,  though  at  moments  she 
hoped,  and  tried  to  persuade  herself  that  he  was  not. 
Then  came  the  matter  of  the  diamonds.  There,  again, 
the  gravest  suspicion  rested  on  him.  Again  he  had 
endeavored  to  exculpate  himself,  yet  she  could  not  be- 
lieve that  he  was  innocent.  Till  full  confidence  that  he 
was  blameless  in  these  matters  was  restored,  an  insupera- 
ble wall  divided  them.  Never  would  she  belong  to  a 
man  who  was  a  wrecker,  who  belonged  to  that  class  of 
criminals  her  father  had  regarded  with  the  utmost 
horror. 

Before  she  retired  to  bed,  she  picked  up  from  under 
the  fender  the  scrap  of  paper  on  which  Oliver's  message 
had  been  written.  It  had  lain  there  unobserved  where 
Coppinger  had  flung  it,  now,  as  she  tidied  her  room,  and 
arranged  the  fire-rug,  she  observed  it.  She  smoothed  it 
out,  folded  it,  and  went  to  her  work-box  to  replace  it 
where  it  had  been  before. 

She  raised  the  lid,  and  was  about  to  put  the  note 
among  some  other  papers  she  had  there,  a  letter  of  her 
mother's,  a  piece  of  her  father's  writing,  some  little  ac- 
counts she  had  kept,  when  she  was  startled  to  see  that 
the  packet  of  arsenic  Mr.  Menaida  had  given  her  was 
missing. 

She  turned  out  the  contents  of  her  work-box.  It  was 
nowhere  to  be  found,  either  there,  or  in  her  drawers. 
Her  aunt  must  have  been  prying  into  the  box,  have  found 
and  removed  it,  so  Judith  thought,  and  with  this  thought 
appeased  her  alarm.  Perhaps,  considering  the  danger 
of  having  arsenic  about,  Aunt  Dionysia  had  done  right 
in  removing  it.  She  had  done  wrong  in  doing  So  with- 
out speaking  to  Judith, 


CHAPTEB  XL VI. 

A  SECOND   LIE. 

Next  day,  Miss  Trevisa  being-  gone,  Judith  had  to  at- 
tend to  the  work  of  the  house.  It  was  her  manifest  duty 
to  do  so.  Hitherto  she  had  shrunk  from  the  responsi- 
bility, because  she  shrank  from  assuming  a  position  in 
the  house  to  which  she  refused  to  consider  that  she  had 
a  right.  Judith  was  perfectly  competent  to  manage  an 
establishment,  she  had  a  clear  head,  a  love  of  order,  and 
a  power  of  exacting  obedience  of  servants  .without  inces- 
sant reproof.  Moreover,  she  had  that  faculty  possessed 
by  few  of  directing  others  in  their  work  so  that  each 
moved  along  his  or  her  own  line  and  fulfilled  the  allot- 
ted work  with  «ase.  She  had  managed  her  father's 
hoiise,  and  managed  it  admirably.  She  knew  that,  as 
the  king's  government  must  be  carried  on,  so  the 
routine  of  a  household  must  be  kept  going.  Judith  had 
sufficient  acquaintance  also  with  servants  to  be  aware 
that  the  wheel  would  stop  or  move  spasmodically,  unless 
an  authoritative  hand  were  applied  to  it  to  keep  it  in 
even  revolution.  She  knew  also  that  whatever  happened 
in  a  house — a  birth,  a  death,  a  wedding,  an  uproar  —  the 
round  of  common  duties  must  be  discharged,  the  meals 
prepared,  the  bread  baked,  the  milk  skimmed,  the  beds 
made,  the  carpets  swept,  the  furniture  dusted,  the  win- 
dows opened,  the  blinds  drawn  down,  the  table  laid,  the 
silver  and  glass  burnished.  Nothing  save  a  fire  which 
gutted  a  house  must  interfere  with  all  this  routine. 
Miss  Trevisa  was  one  of  those  ladies  who,  in  their  own 
opinion,  are  condemned  by  Providence  never  to  have 
good  servants.  A  benign  Providence  sheds  good  do- 
mestics into  every  other  house,  save  that  which  she  rules. 
She  is  born  under  a  star  which  inexorably  sends  the 
scum  and  dregs  of  servantdom  under  her  sceptre.  Miss 
Trevisa  regarded  a  servant  as  a  cat  regards  a  mouse,  a 
dog  regards  a  fox,  and  a  dolphin  a  flying-fish,  as  some- 
thing to  be  run  after,  snapped  at,  clawed,  leaped  upon, 


342  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

worried  perpetually.  She  was  incapable  of  believing 
that  there  could  be  any  good  in  a  servant,  that  there  was 
any  other  side  to  a  domestic  save  a  seamy  side.  She 
could  make  no  allowance  for  ignorance,  for  weakness,  for 
lightheartedness.  A  servant  in  her  eyes  must  be  a 
drudge  ever  working-,  never  speaking,  smiling,  taking  a 
hand  off  the  duster,  without  a  mind  above  flue  and  tea- 
leaves,  and  unable  to  soar  above  a  cobweb ;  with  a  tem- 
per perfect  in  endurance  of  daily,  hourly  fault-finding, 
nagging,  grumbling,  a  mind  unambitious  also  of  com- 
mendation. Miss  Trevisa  held  that  every  servant  that  a 
malign  Providence  had  sent  her  was  clumsy,  insolent, 
slatternly,  unmethodical,  idle,  wasteful,  a  gossip,  a  gad- 
about, a  liar,  a  thief,  was  dainty,  greedy,  one  of  a  cursed 
generation ;  and  when  in  the  Psalms,  David  launched  out 
in  denunciation  of  the  enemies  of  the  Lord,  Miss  Trevisa, 
when  she  heard  or  read  these  Psalms,  thought  of  servant- 
dom.  Servants  were  referred  to  when  David  said,  "  Hide 
me  from  the  insurrection  of  the  ^wicked  doers,  who  have 
whet  their  tongues  like  a  sword,  that  they  may  privily 
shoot  at  him  that  is  perfect,"  i.e.,  me,  was  Miss  Trevisa's 
comment.  "  They  encourage  themselves  in  mischief ; 
and  commune  among  themselves  how  they  may  lay 
snares,  and  say,  that  no  man  shall  see  them."  "And 
how,"  said  Miss  Trevisa,  "  can  men  be  so  blind  as  not  to 
believe  that  the  Bible  is  inspired  when  David  hits  the 
character  of  servants  off  to  the  life  !  " 

And  not  the  Psalms  only,  but  the  Prophets  were  full 
of  servants'  delinquencies.  What  were  Tyre  and  Egypt 
but  figures  of  servantdom  shadowed  before.  What  else 
did  Isaiah  lift  up  his  testimony  about,  and  Jeremiah 
lament  over,  but  the  iniquities  of  the  kitchen  and  the  ser- 
vants' hall.  Miss  Trevisa  read  her  Bible,  and  great 
comfort  did  it  afford  her,  because  it  did  denounce  the 
servant  maids  so  unsparingly  and  prepared  brimstone 
and  outer  darkness  for  them. 

Now  Judith  had  seen  and  heard  much  of  the  way  in 
which  Miss  Trevisa  managed  Captain  Coppinger's  house. 
Her  room  adjoined  that  of  her  aunt,  and  she  knew  that  if 
her  aunt  were  engaged  on — it  mattered  not  what  absorb- 
ing work,  embroidery,  darning  a  stocking,  reading  a 
novel,  saying  her  prayers,  studying  the  cookery  book— 
if  a  servant  sneezed  within  a  hundred  yards,  or  upset  a 
drop  of  water,  or  clanked  a  dust-pan,  or  clicked  a  door- 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  343 

handle,  Miss  Trevisa  would  be  distracted  from  her  work 
and  rush  out  of  her  room,  just  as  a  spider  darts  from  its 
recess,  and  sweep  down  on  the  luckless  servant  to  worry 
and  abuse  her. 

Judith,  knowing-  this,  knew  also  that  the  day  of  Miss 
Trevisa's  departure  would  be  marked  with  white  chalk, 
and  lead  to  a  general  relaxation  of  discipline,  to  an  in- 
haling- of  long  breaths,  and  a  general  stretching  and  tak- 
ing- of  ease.  It  was  necessary,  therefore,  that  she  should 
go  round  and  see  that  the  wheel  was  kept  turning. 

To  her  surprise,  on  entering  the  hall,  she  found  Cap- 
tain Coppinger  there. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  said,  "I  thought  you  were 
out." 

She  looked  at  him  and  was  struck  with  his  appear- 
ance, the  clay-like  color  of  his  face,  the  dark  lines  in  it, 
the  faded  look  in  his  eyes. 

"  Are  you  unwell  ?  "  she  asked ;  "  you  really  look  ill." 

"  I  am  ill." 

"Ill— what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  A  burning  in  my  throat.  Cramp  and  pains — but  what 
is  that  to  you  ? " 

"  When  did  it  come  on  ?  " 

"But  recently." 

"  Will  you  not  have  a  doctor  to  see  you  1 " 

"  A  doctor !— no." 

"Was  the  porridge  as  you  liked  it  this  morning?  I 
made  it." 

"  It  was  good  enough." 

"  WoTild  you  like  more  now  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  And  to-morrow  morning,  will  you  have  the  same  ?  " 

"  Yes — the  same." 

"  I  will  make  it  again.  Aunt  said  the  new  cook  did 
not  understand  how  to  mix  and  boil  it  to  your  liking." 

Coppinger  nodded. 

Judith  remained  standing  and  observing  him.  Some 
faces  when  touched  by  pain  and  sickness  are  softened 
and  sweetened.  The  hand  of  suffering  passes  over  the 
countenance  and  brushes  away  all  that  is  frivolous,  sor- 
did, vulgar;  it  gives  dignity,  purity,  refinement,  and 
shows  what  the  inner  soul  might  be  were  it  not  en- 
tangled and  degraded  by  base  association  and  pursuit. 
It  is  different  with  other  faces,  the  hand  of  suffering 


344  IN  THE  ROAR   OF   THE  SEA, 

films  away  the  assumed  expression  of  good  nature,  hon- 
esty, straightforwardness,  and  unmasks*  the  evil  inner 
man.  The  touch  of  pain  had  not  improved  the  expres- 
sion of  Cruel  Coppinger.  It  cannot,  however,  with  jus- 
tice be  said  that  the  gentler  aspect  of  the  man,  which 
Judith  had  at  one  time  seen,  was  an  assumption.  He 
was  a  man  in  whom  there  was  a  certain  element  of  good, 
but  it  was  mixed  up  with  headlong  wilfulness,  utter 
selfishness,  and  resolution  to  have  his  own  way  at  any 
cost. 

Judith  could  see,  now  that  his  face  w^as  pain-struck, 
how  much  of  evil  there  was  in  the  soul  that  had  been 
disguised  by  a  certain  dash  of  masculine  overbearing  and 
brusqueness. 

"  What  are  you  looking  at  1 "  asked  Coppinger,  glanc- 
ing up. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  answered  Judith. 

"  Of  what  ?  " 

"  Of  you— of  Wyvill,  of  the  wreck  on  Doom  Bar,  of 
the  jewels  of  Lady  Knighton,  and  last  of  all  of  Jamie's 
maltreatment." 

"  And  what  of  all  that  ?  "  he  said  in  irritable  scorn. 

"  That  I  need  not  say.  I  have  drawn  my  owrn  conclu- 
clusions." 

"  You  torment  me,  you — when  I  am  ill  ?  They  call  me 
Cruel,  but  it  is  you  who  are  cruel." 

Judith  did  not  wish  to  be  drawn  into  discussion  that 
must  be  fruitless.  She  said,  quietly,  in  altered  tone, 
"  Can  I  get  you  anything  to  comfort  you  ? " 

"  No — go  your  way.  This  will  pass.  Besides,  it  is 
naught  to  you.  Go  ;  .1  would  be  left  alone." 

Judith  obeyed,  but  she  was  uneasy.  She  had  never 
seen  Coppinger  look  as  he  looked  now.  It  was  other, 
altogether,  after  he  had  broken  his  arm.  Other,  also, 
when  for  a  day  he  was  crippled  with  bruises,  after  the 
wreck.  She  looked  into  the  hall  several  times  during 
the  day.  In  the  afternoon  he  was  easier,  and  went  out ; 
his  mouth  had  been  parched  and  burning,  and  he  had 
been  drinking  milk.  The  empty  glass  was  on  the  table. 
He  would  eat  nothing  at  mid-day.  He  turned  from  food, 
and  left  the  room  for  his  own  chamber. 

Judith  was  anxious.  She  more  than  once  endeavored 
to  draw  Coppinger  into  conversation  relative  to  himself, 
but  he  would  not  speak  of  what  affected  him.  He  wa,s 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  345 

annoyed  and  ashamed  at  being  out  of  his  usual  rude 
health. 

"  It  is  naught,"  he  said,  "  but  a  bilious  attack,  and  will 
pass.  Leave  me  alone." 

She  had  been  so  busy  all  day,  that  she  had  seen  little 
of  Jamie.  He  had  taken  advantage  of  Captain  Goppiu- 
ger  not  being  about,  to  give  himself  more  license  to  roam 
than  he  had  of  late,  and  to  go  with  his  donkey  on  the  cliffs. 
Anyhow  Judith  on  this  day  did  rrot  have  him  hanging  to 
her  skirts.  She  was  glad  of  it,  for,  though  she  loved 
him,  he  would  have  been  an  encumbrance  when  she  was 
so  busy. 

The  last  thing  at  night  she  did  was  to  go  to  Coppinger 
to  inquire  what  he  would  take.  He  desired  nothing  but 
spirits  and  milk.  He  thought  that  a  milk-punch  would 
give  him  ease  and  make  him  sleep.  That  he  was  weak 
and  had  suffered  pain  she  saw,  and  she  was  full  of  pity 
for  him.  But  this  she  did  not  like  to  exhibit,  partly  be- 
cause he  might  misunderstand  her  feelings,  and  partly 
because  he  seemed  irritated  at  being  unwell,  and  at  loss 
of  power ;  irritated,  at  all  events,  at  it  being  observed  that 
he  was  not  in  his  usual  plenitude  of  strength  and  health. 

That  night  the  Atlantic  was  troubled,  and  the  wind 
carried  the  billows  against  the  cliffs  in  a  succession  of 
rhythmic  roars  that  filled  the  air  with  sound  and  made 
the  earth  quiver.  Judith  could  not  sleep,  she  listened 
to  the  thud  of  the  water-heaps  flung  against  the  rocks  ; 
there  was  a  clock  on  the  stairs  and  in  her  wakefulness 
she  listened  to  the  tick  of  the  clock,  and  the  boom  of 
the  waves,  now  coming  together,  then  one  behind  the 
other,  now  the  wave-beat  catching  up  the  clock-tick,  then 
falling  in  arrear,  the  ocean  getting  angry  and  making  up 
its  pace  by  a  double  beat.  Moreover  flakes  of  foam  were 
carried  on  the  wind  and  came,  like  snow,  against  her 
window  that  looked  seaward  striking  the  glass  and  ad- 
hering to  it. 

As  Judith  lay  watchful  in  the  night  her  mind  again 
recurred  to  the  packet  of  arsenic  that  had  been  abstracted 
from  her  workbox.  It  was  inconsiderate  of  her  to  have 
left  it  there ;  she  ought  to  have  locked  her  box.  But 
who  could  have  supposed  that  anyone  would  have  gone 
to  the  box,  raised  the  tray  and  searched  the  contents  of 
the  compartment  beneath  ?  Judith  had  been  unaccus- 
tomed to  lock  up  anything,  because  she  had  never  had 


346  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

any  secrets  to  hide  from  any  eye.  She  again  considered 
the  probability  of  her  aunt  having'  removed  it,  and  then 
it  occurred  to  her  that  perhaps  Miss  Trevisa  might  have 
supposed  that  she — Judith — in  a  fit  of  revolt  against 
the  wretchedness  of  her  life  might  be  induced  to  take 
the  poison  herself  and  finish  her  miseries.  "  It  was  ab- 
surd if  Aunt  Dunes  thought  that,"  said  Judith  to  her- 
self ;  "  she  can  little  have  known  how  my  dear  Papa's 
teaching  has  sunk  into  my  heart,  to  suppose  me  capable 
of  such  a  thing — and  then — to  run  away  like  a  coward 
and  leave  Jamie  unprotected.  It  was  too  absurd." 

Next  morning  Judith  was  in  her  room  getting  a  large 
needle  with  which  to  hem  a  bit  of  carpet  edge  that  had 
been  fraying  for  the  last  five  years,  and  which  no  one 
had  thought  of  putting  a  thread  to,  and  so  arresting  the 
disintegration.  Jamie  was  in  the  room.  Judith  said  to 
him: 

"  My  dear,  you  have  not  been  skinning  and  stuffing 
any  birds  lately,  have  you  ?  " 

"  No,  Ju." 

"  Because  I  have  missed — but,  Jamie,  I  hope  you  have 
not  been  at  my  workbox  ?  " 

"  What  about  your  workbox,  Ju  ?  " 

She  knew  the  boy  so  well,  that  her  suspicions  were  at 
once  aroused  by  this  answer.  When  he  had  nothing  to 
hide  he  replied  with  a  direct  negative  or  affirmative,  but 
when  he  had  done  what  his  conscience  would  not  quite 
allow  was  right,  he  fell  into  equivocation,  and  shuffled 
awkwardly. 

"  Jamie,"  said  Judith,  looking  him  straight  in  the  face, 
"  have  you  been  to  my  box  ?  " 

"  Only  just  looked  in." 

Then  he  ran  to  the  window.  "  Oh,  do  see,  Ju,  how 
patched  the  glass  is  with  foam  ! — and  is  it  not  dirty  ?  " 

"  Jamie,  come  back.     I  want  an  answer." 

He  had  opened  the  casement  and  put  his  hand  out  and 
was  wiping  off  the  patches  of  froth. 

"  What  a  lot  of  it  there  is,  Ju." 

"  Come  here,  instantly,  Jamie,  and  shut  the  window." 

The  boy  obeyed,  creeping  toward  her  sideways,  with 
his  head  down. 

"  Jamie,  did  you  lift  the  tray  ?  " 

"  Only  on  one  side,  just  a  little  bit." 

"  Did  you  take  anything  from  under  the  tray  ?  " 


IN   THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  347 

He  did  not  answer  immediately.  She  looked  at  him 
searchingly  and  in  suspense.  He  never  could  endure 
this  questioning-  look  of  hers,  and  he  ran  to  her,  put 
his  arms  round  her  waist,  and  clasped  to  her  side,  hid 
his  face  in  her  gown. 

"  Only  a  little." 

"  A  little  what  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Jamie,  no  lies.  There  was  a  'blue  paper  there  con- 
taining1 poison,  that  you  were  not  to  have  unless  there 
were  occasion  for  it — some  bird-skin  to  be  preserved  and 
dressed  with  it.  Now,  did  you  take  that  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Go  and  bring  it  back  to  me  immediately." 

"I  can't." 

"  Why  not  ?     Where  is  it  ?  " 

'The  boy  fidgeted,  looked  up  in  his  sister's  face  to 
see  what  expression  it  bore,  buried  his  head  again,  and 
said : 

"  Ju  !  he  is  rightly  called  Cruel.  I  hate  him,  and  so  do 
you,  don't  you,  Ju  ?  I  have  put  the  arsenic  into  his  oat- 
meal, and  we  will  get  rid  of  him  and  be  free  and  go  away. 
Tt  will  be  jolly." 

"  Jamie  !  "  with  a  cry  of  horror. 

"  He  won't  whip  me  and  scold  you  any  more." 

"  Jamie !  Oh,  my  Lord,  have  pity  on  him  !  have  pity 
on  us ! " 

She  clasped  her  hands  to  her  head,  rushed  from  the 
room,  and  flew  down  the  stairs. 

But  ten  minutes  before  that  Judith  had  given  Cop- 
pinger  his  bowl  of  porridge.  He  had  risen  late  that 
morning.  He  was  better,  he  said,  and  he  looked  more 
himself  than  the  preceding  day.  He  was  now  seated  at 
the  table  in  the  hall,  and  had  poured  the  fresh  milk  into 
the  bowl,  had  dipped  the  spoon,  put  some  of  the  porridge 
to  his  mouth,  tasted,  and  was  looking  curiously  into  the 
spoon,  when  the  door  was  flung  open,  Judith  entered, 
and  without  a  word  of  explanation,  caught  the  bowl  from 
him  and  dashed  it  on  the  floor. 

Coppinger  looked  at  her  with  his  boring,  dark  eyes  in- 
tently, and  said :  "  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  " 

"  It  is  poisoned." 

Judith  was  breathless.  She  drew  back  relieved  at  hav 
ing  cast  away  the  fatal  mess. 


348  IN  THE  ROAR   OF   THE  SEA. 

Coppinger  rose  to  his  feet,  and  glared  at  her  across 
the  table,  leaning-  with  his  knuckles  on  *  the  board.  He 
did  not  speak  for  a  moment,  his  face  became  livid,  and 
his  hands  resting  on  the  table  shook  as  though  he  were 
shivering  in  an  ague. 

"  There  is  arsenic  in  the  porridge,"  gasped  Judith. 

She  had  not  time  to  weigh  what  she  should  say,  how 
explain  her  conduct ;  but  one  thought  had  held  her — to 
save  Coppinger's  life  while  there  was  yet  time. 

The  Captain's  dog  that  had  been  lying  at  his  master's 
feet  rose,  went  to  the  spilt  porridge,  and  began  to  lap 
the  milk  and  devour  the  paste.  Neither  Judith  nor  Cop- 
pinger  regarded  him. 

"  It  was  an  accident,"  faltered  Judith. 

"  You  lie,"  said  Coppinger,  in  thrilling  tones,  "  you 
lie,  you  murderess !  You  sought  to  kill  me." 

Judith  did  not  answer  for  a  moment.  She  also  was 
trembling.  She  had  to  resolve  what  course  to  pursue. 
She  could  not,  she  would  not,  betray  her  brother,  and 
subject  him  to  the  worst  brutality  of  treatment  from  the 
infuriated  man  whose  life  he  had  sought. 

It  were  better  for  her  to  take  the  blame  on  herself. 

"  I  made  the  porridge — I  and  no  one  else." 

"  You  told  me  so,  yesterday."  He  maintained  his  com- 
posure marvellously,  but  he  was  stunned  by  the  sudden 
discovery  of  treachery  in  the  woman  he  had  loved  and 
worshipped. 

"  You  maddened  me  by  your  treatment,  but  I  did  not 
desire  that  you  should  die.  I  repented  and  have  saved 
your  life." 

As  Judith  spoke  she  felt  as  though  the  flesh  of  her  face 
stiffened,  and  the  skin  became  as  parchment.  She  could 
hardly  open  her  mouth  to  speak  and  stir  her  tongue. 

"  Go ! "  said  Coppinger,  pointing  to  the  door.  "  Go, 
you  and  your  brother.  Othello  cottage  is  empty.  Go, 
murderess,  poisoner  of  your  husband,  there  and  wait  till 
you  hear  from  me.  Under  one  roof,  to  eat  off  one  board, 
is  henceforth  impossible.  Go !  "  he  remained  pointing, 
and  a  sulphurous  fire  flickered  in  his  eyes. 

Then  the  hound  began  to  howl,  threw  itself  down,  its 
limbs  were  contracted,  it  foamed  at  the  mouth,  and 
howled  again. 

To  the  bowlings  of  the  poisoned  and  dying  dog  Ju- 
dith and  Jamie  left  Pentyre. 


CHAPTEE  XL VII. 

FAST   IN   HIS   HANDS. 

Judith  and  Jamie  were  together  in  Othello  Cottage — 
banished  from  Pentyre  with  a  dark  and  threatening 
shadow  over  them,  but  this,  however,  gave  the  boy  but 
little  concern ;  he  was  delighted  to  be  away  from  a  house 
where  he  had  been  in  incessant  terror,  and  where  he  was 
under  restraint ;  moreover,  it  was  joy  to  him  to  be  now 
where  he  need  not  meet  Coppinger  at  every  turn. 

Judith  forbade  his  going  to  Polzeath  to  see  Uncle 
Zachie  and  Oliver  Menaida,  as  she  thought  it  advisable, 
under  the  circumstances,  to  keep  themselves  to  them- 
selves, and  above  all  not  to  give  further  occasion  for  the 
suspicions  and  jealousy  of  Coppinger.  This  was  to  her, 
under  the  present  condition  of  affairs,  specially  distress- 
ing, as  she  needed  some  counsel  as  to  what  she  should 
do.  Uncle  Zachie  at  his  best  was  a  poor  adviser,  but  on 
no  account  now  would  she  appeal  to  his  son.  She  was 
embarrassed  and  alarmed.  And  she  had  excuse  for  em- 
barrassment and  alarm.  She  had  taken  upon  herself  the 
attempt  that  had  been  made  on  the  life  of  Coppinger, 
and  he  would,  she  supposed,  believe  her  to  be  guilty. 

What  would  he  do  ?  Would  he  proceed  against  her 
for  attempted  murder  1  If  so,  the  case  against  her  was 
very  complete.  It  could  be  shown  that  Mr.  Menaida  had 

given  her  this  arsenic,  that  she  had  kept  it  by  her  in 
er  workbox  while  at  the  Glaze,  that  she  had  been  on 
the  most  unsatisfactory  terms  with  Captain  Coppinger, 
and  that  she  had  refused  to  complete  her  marriage  with 
him  by  appending  her  signature  to  the  register.  She 
was  now  aware — and  the  thought  made  her  feel  sick  at 
heart  and  faint — that  her  association  with  the  Menaidas 
had  been  most  injudicious  and  had  been  capable  of  mis- 
interpretation. It  had  been  misinterpreted  by  Coppin- 
ger, and  probably  also  by  the  gossips  of  Polzeath.  It 
could  be  shown  that  a  Secret  correspondence  had  been 


350  IN  THE  ROAE  OF  THE  SEA. 

carried  ou  between  her  and  Oliver,  which  had  been  in- 
tercepted by  her  husband.  This  was  followed  immedi- 
ately by  the  attempt  to  poison  Coppinger.  The  arsenic 
had  been  given  him  in  the  porridge  her  own  hands  had 
mixed,  and  which  had  been  touched  by  110  one  else.  It 
was  natural  to  conclude  that  she  had  deliberately  pur- 
posed to  destroy  her  husband,  that  she  might  be  free  to 
marry  Oliver  Menaida. 

If  she  were  prosecuted  on  the  criminal  charge  of 
attempted  murder,  the  case  could  be  made  so  conclusive 
ag-ainst  her  that  her  conviction  was  certain. 

Her  only  chance  of  escape  lay  in  two  directions — one 
that  she  should  tell  the  truth,  and  allow  Jamie  to  suffer 
the  consequences  of  what  he  had  done,  which  would  be 
prison  or  a  lunatic  asylum.  The  other  was  that  she 
should  continue  to  screen  him  and  trust  that  Coppinger 
would  not  prosecute  her.  He  might  hesitate  about  pro- 
ceeding with  such  a  case,  which  would  attract  attention 
to  himself,  to  his  household,  and  lay  bare  to  the  public 
eye  much  that  he  would  reasonably  be  supposed  to  wish 
to  keep  concealed.  If,  for  instance,  the  case  were 
brought  into  court  the  story  of  the  enforced  marriage 
must  come  out,  and  that  would  rake  up  once  more  the 
mystery  of  the  wreckers  on  Doom  Bar,  and  of  Lady 
Knighton's  jewels.  Coppinger  might  and  probably 
would  grasp  at  the  other  alternative — take  advantage  of 
the  incompletion  of  the  marriage,  repudiate  her,  and  let 
the  matter  of  the  poisoned  porridge  remain  untouched. 

The  more  Judith  turned  the  matter  over  in  her  head 
the  more  sure  she  became  that  the  best  course,  indeed 
the  only  one  in  which  safety  lay,  was  for  her  to  continue 
to  assume  to  herself  the  guilt  of  the  attempt  on  Coppin- 
ger's  life.  He  would  see  by  her  interference  the  second 
time,  and  prevention  of  his  taking  a  second  portion  of  the 
arsenic,  that  she  did  not  really  seek  his  life,  but  sought 
to  force  him,  through  personal  fear,  to  drive  her  from 
his  house  and  break  the  bond  by  which  he  bound  her  to 
him.  For  the  sake  of  this  going  back  from  a  purpose  of 
murder,  or  from  thinking-  that  she  had  never  intended 
to  do  more  than  drive  him  to  a  separation  by  alarm  for 
his  own  safety  ;  for  the  sake  of  the  old  love  he  had  borne 
her,  he  might  forbear  pressing  this  matter  to  its  bitter 
consequences,  and  accept  what  she  desired — their  sepa- 
ration, 


IN  THE  ROAH  OF  THE  SEA.  351 

But  if  Judith  allowed  the  truth  to  come  out,  then  her 
husband  would  have  no  such  compunction.  It  would  be 
an  opportunity  for  him  to  get  rid  of  the  boy  he  de- 
tested, and  even  if  he  did  not  have  him  consigned  to 
jail,  then  it  would  be  only  because  he  would  send  him 
to  an  asylum. 

Judith  went  out  on  the  cliffs.  The  sea  was  troubled, 
far  as  the  horizon,  strewn  with  wrhite  horses  shaking 
their  manes,  pawing  and  prancing  in  their  gallop  land- 
ward. There  was  no  blue,  110  greenness  in  the  ocean 
now.  The  dull  tinctures  of  winter  wrere  in  it.  The  At- 
lantic wore  its  scowl,  was  leaden  and  impatient.  The 
foam  on  the  rocks  was  driven  up  in  spouts  into  the  air 
and  carried  over  the  downs,  it  caught  in  the  thorn 
bushes  like  flocks  of  wool,  and  was  no  cleaner.  It  lay 
with  the  thin  melting  snow  and  melted  with  it  into  a 
dirty  slush.  It  plastered  the  face  of  Othello  Cottage  as 
though,  in  brutal  insolence,  Ocean  had  been  spitting  at 
the  house  that  was  built  of  the  wreck  he  had  failed  to 
gulp  down,  though  he  had  chewed  the  life  out  of  it. 
The  foam  rested  in  flakes  on  the  rushes  where  it  hung 
and  fluttered  like  tufts  of  cotton-grass.  It  was  dropped 
about  by  the  wind  for  miles  inland  as  though  the  wind 
were  running  in  a  paper  chase.  It  was  as  though  sky 
and  sea  "were  contending  in  a  game  of  pelting  the  land, 
the  one  with  snow,  the  other  with  foam,  the  one  sweet, 
the  other  salt.  Judith  walked  where,  near  the  edge  of 
the  cliffs,  where  there  was  no  snow,  and  looked  out  at 
the  angry  ocean.  All  without  was  cold,  rugged,  ruffled, 
wretched ;  and  within  her  heart  burned  a  fire  of  apprehen- 
sion, distress,  almost  of  despair.  All  at  once  she  came 
upon  Mr.  Desiderius  Mules,  walking  in  an  opposite  direc- 
tion, engaged  in  wiping  the  foam-flakes  out  of  his  eyes. 

"  Halloo  !  you  here  Mrs.  Coppinger  ?  "  exclaimed  the 
rector ;  "  glad  to  see  you.  I'm  not  here  like  B.  An- 
thony preaching  to  the  fishes,  because  I  am  a  practical 
man.  In  the  first  place,  in.  such  a  disturbed  sea  the  fishes 
would  have  enough  to  do  to  look  alter  themselves  and 
would  be  ill-disposed  to  lend  me  an  ear.  In  the  next 
place  the  wind  is  on  shore,  and  they  would  not  hear  me 
were  I  to  lift  up  my  voice.  So  I  don't  waste  words  and 
over-strain  my  larynx.  If  the  bishop  were  a  mile  or  a 
mile  and  a  half  inland,  it  might  be  different,  he  might 
admire  my  zeal.  And  what  brings  you  here  1 " 


352  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Mules ! "  exclaimed  Judith,  with  a  leap  of 
hope  in  her  heart — here  was  someone  who  might  if  he 
would  be  a  help  to  her.  She  had  indeed  made'  up  her 
own  mind  as  to  what  was  the  safest  road  on  which  to  set 
her  feet,  but  she  was  timid,  shrank  from  falsehood,  and 
earnestly  craved  for  someone  to  whom  she  could  speak, 
and  from  whom  she  could  obtain  advice. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Mules !  will  you  give  me  some  advice  and 
assistance  1  " 

"  Advice,  by  all  means,"  said  the  rector.  "  I'll  turn 
and  walk  your  way,  the  froth  is  blown  into  my  face  and 
stings  it.  My  skin  is  sensitive,  so  are  my  eyes.  Upon 
my  word,  when  I  got  home  my  face  will  be  as  salt  as  if 
I  had  flooded  it  with  tears— fancy  me  crying.  "What  did 
you  say  you  wanted — advice  ?  " 

"  Advice  and  assistance." 

"  Advice  you  shall  have,  it  is  my  profession  to  give  it. 
I  mix  it  with  pepper  and  salt  and  serve  it  out  in  soup 
plates  every  week — am  ready  with  it  every  day,  Mrs.  Cop- 
pinger.  I  have  buckets  of  it  at  your  disposal,  bring 
your  tureen  and  I'll  tip  in  as  much  of  the  broth  as  you 
want,  and  may  you  like  it.  As  to  assistance,  that  is 
another  matter.  Pecuniary  assistance  I  never  give.  I 
am  unable  to  do  so.  My  principles  stand  in  the  Avay.  I 
have  set  up  a  high  standard  for  myself  and  I  stick  to  it. 
I  never  render  pecuniary  assistance  to  anyone,  as  it  de- 
moralizes the  receiver.  I  hope  and  trust  it  was  not  pe- 
cuniary assistance  you  wanted." 

"  No,  Mr.  Mules — not  that,  only  guidance." 

"  Oh,  guidance  !  I'm  your  sign  -  post,  where  do  you 
want  to  go  ?  " 

"  It  is  this,  sir.  I  have  given  poison  to  Mr.  Coppin- 
ger." 

"  Mercy  011  me  !  "  the  rector  jumped  back  and  turned 
much  the  tinge  of  the  foam  plasters  that  were  on  his 
face. 

"  That  is  to  say,  I  gave  him  arsenic  mixed  with  his 
porridge  the  day  before  yesterday,  and  it  made  him  very 
ill.  Yesterday  — 

"Hush,  hush!"  said  Mr.  Mules,  "no  more  of  this. 
This  is  ghastly.  Let  us. say  it  is  hallucination  on  your 
part.  You  are  either  not  right  in  your  head  or  are  very 
wicked.  If  you  please — don't  come  nearer  to  me.  I 
can  hear  you  quite  well,  hear  a  great  deal  more  than 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  353 

pleases  me.  You  ask  my  advice,  and  I  give  it :  Sign 
the  register,  that  will  set  me  square,  and  put  me  in  an 
unassailable  position  with  the  public,  and  also,  second- 
arily, it  will  be  to  your  advantage.  You  are  now  a 
nondescript,  and  a  nondescript  is  objectionable.  If  you 
please — you  will  excuse  me— I  should  prefer  not  stand- 
ing between  you  and  the  cliff.  There  is  no  knowing- 
what  a  person  who  confesses  to  poisoning-  her  husband 
might  do.  If  it  be  a  case  of  lunacy — well,  more  reason 
that  I  should  use  precautions.  My  life  is  valuable. 
Come,  there  is  only  one  thing-  you  can  do  to  make  me 
comfortable — sign  the  register." 

"You  will  not  mention  what  I  have  told  you  to  any- 
one ? " 

"Save  and  defend  us!  I  speak  of  it!— l!  Come, 
come,  be  rational.  Sign  the  register  and  set  my  mind 
at  ease,  that  is  all  I  want  and  ask  for,  and  then  I  wash 
my  hands  of  you." 

Then  away  went  Mr.  Desiderius  Mules,  with  the  wind 
catching  his  coat  tails,  twisting-  them,  throwing  them 
up  against  his  back,  parting-  them,  and  driving  them 
one  on  each  side  of  him,  taking  and  cutting  them  and 
sending  them  between  his  legs. 

Judith  stood  mournfully  looking-  after  him.  The  sign- 
post, as  he  had  called  himself  was  flying  from  the  travel- 
ler whom  it  was  his  duty  to  direct. 

Then  a  hand  was  laid  on  her  arm.  She  started,  turned 
and  saw  Oliver  Meiiaida,  flushed  with  rapid  walking 
and  with  the  fresh  air  he  had  encountered. 

"I  have  come  to  see  you,"  he  said.  "I  have  come  to 
offer  you  my  father's  and  my  assistance.  We  have  just 
heard  — 

"  What  ?  " 

"  That  Captain  Coppinger  has  turned  you  and  Jamie 
out  of  his  house." 

"  Have  you  heard  any  reason  assigned  ?  " 

"  Because — so  it  is  said — he  had  beaten  the  boy,  and 
you  were  incensed,  angry  words  passed — and  it  ended 
in  a  rupture." 

"  That,  then,  is  the  common  explanation  ?  " 

"  Everyone  is  talking  about  it.  Everyone  says  that. 
And  now,  what  will  you  do  ?  " 

"Thank  you.  Jamie  and  I  are  at  Othello  Cottage, 
where  we  are  comfortable.  My  aunt  had  furnished  it 


354  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

intending  to  reside  in  it  herself.  As  for  our  food,  we  re- 
ceive that  from  the  Glaze." 

"  But  this  cannot  continue." 

"  It  must  continue  for  a  while." 

"  And  then  ?  " 

"  The  future  is  not  open  to  my  eyes." 

"  Judith,  that  has  taken  place  at  length  which  I  have 
been  long  expecting." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  This  miserable  condition  of  affairs  has  reached  its 
climax,  and  there  has  been  a  turn." 

Judith  sighed.     "It  has  taken  a  turn,  indeed." 

"  Now  that  Captain  Coppinger  has  been  brought  to 
his  senses,  and  he  sees  that  your  resolve  is  not  to  be 
shaken,  and  he  releases  you,  or  you  have  released  your- 
self from  the  thraldom  you  have  been  in.  I  do  not 
suppose  the  popular  account  of  the  matter  is  true, 
wholly." 

"  It  is  not  at  all  true." 

"  That  matters  not.  The  fact  remains  that  you  are  out 
of  Pentyre  Glaze  and  your  own  mistress.  The  snare  is 
broken  and  you  are  delivcjivd." 

Again  Judith  sighed,  and  she  shook  her  head  despond- 
ingly. 

"  You  are  free,"  persisted  Oliver,  "  just  consider.  You 
were  hurried  through  a  marriage  when  insensible,  and 
when  you  came  to  consciousness  you  did  what  was  the 
only  thing  you  could  do — you  absolutely  refused  your 
signature  that  would  validate  what  had  taken  place. 
That  was  conclusive.  That  ceremony  was  as  worthless 
as  this  sea-foam  that  blows  by.  No  court  in  the  world 
would  hold  that  you  were  bound  by  it.  The  consent, 
the  free  consent,  of  each  party  in  such  a  convention  is 
essential.  As  to  your  being  at  Pentyre,  nothing  against 
that  can  be  alleged ;  Miss  Trevisa  was  your  aunt  and 
constituted  your  guardian  by  your  father.  Your  place 
was  by  her.  To  her  you  went  when  my  father's  house 
was  no  longer  at  your  service  through  my  return.  At 
Pentyre  you  remained  as  long  as  Miss  Trevisa  was  there. 
She  went,  and  at  once  you  left  the  house/' 

"  You  do  not  understand.'' 

"  Excuse  me,  I  think  I  do.  But  no  matter  as  to  de- 
tails. \Vhon  your  aunt  went,  you  went  also — as  was 
proper  under  the  circumstances.  We  have  heard,  I  do 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  355 

not  know  whether  it  be  true,  that  your  aunt  has  come  in 
for  a  good  property." 

"  For  a  little  something." 

"  Then,  shall  you  go  to  her  and  reside  with  her  ?  " 

"  No  ;  she  will  not  have  Jamie  and  me." 

"  So  we  supposed.  Now  my  father  has  a  proposal  to 
make.  The  firm  to  which  I  belong  has  been  good  enough 
to  take  me  into  partnership,  esteeming  my  services  far 
higher  than  they  deserve,  and  I-  am  to  live  at  Oporto, 
and  act  for  them  there.  As  my  income  will  now  be  far 
larger  than  my  humble  requirements,  I  have  resolved  to 
allow  my  dear  father  sufficient  for  him  to  live  upon  com- 
fortably where  he  wills,  and  he  has  elected  to  follow  me, 
and  take  up  his  abode  in  Portugal.  Now  what  he  has 
commissioned  me  to  say  is — will  you  go  with  him  ? 
Will  you  continue  to  regard  him  as  Uncle  Zachie,  and  be 
to  him  as  his  dear  little  niece,  and  keep  house  for  him 
in  the  sunny  southern  land  ?  " 

Judith's  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"  And  Jamie  is  included  in  the  invitation.  He  is  to 
come  also,  and  help  my  father  to  stuff  the  birds  of  Por- 
tugal. A  new  ornithological  field  is  opening  before  him, 
he  says,  and  he  must  have  help  in  it." 

"  I  cannot,"  said  Judith,  in.  a  low  tone,  with  her  head 
sunk  on  her  breast.  "  I  cannot  leave  here  till  Captain 
Coppinger  gives  me  leave." 

"  But,  surely,  you  are  no  longer  bound  to  him  ?  " 

"  He  holds  me  faster  than  before." 

"I  cannot  understand  this." 

"  No  ;  because  you  do  not  know  all." 

"  Tell  me  the  whole  truth.  Let  me  help  you.  Let  my 
father  help  you.  You  little  know  how  we  both  have  our 
hearts  in  your  service." 

"  Well,  I  will  tell  you." 

But  she  hesitated  and  trembled.  She  fixed  her  eyes 
on  the  wild,  foaming,  leaden  sea,  and  pressed  her  bosom 
with  both  hands. 

"  I  poisoned  him." 

"  Judith  !  "     . 

"  It  is  true,  I  gave  him  arsenic,  once ;  that  your  father 
had  let  me  have  for  Jamie.  If  he  had  taken  it  the  second 
time,  when  I  offered  it  him  in  his  bowl  of  porridge,  he 
would  be  dead  now.  Do  you  see — he  holds  me  in  his 
hands  and  I  cannot  stir.  I  could  not  escape  till  I  know 


356  IN  TTTK  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

what  he  intends  to  do  with  me.    Now  go — leave  me  to 
my  fate." 

"  Judith — it  is  not  true !  Though.  I  hear  this  from  your 
lips  I  will  not  believe  it.  No ;  you  need  my  father's, 
you  need  my  help  more  than  ever."  He  put  her  hand  to 
his  lips.  "  It  is  white — innocent.  I  know  it,  in  spite  of 
your  words." 


CHAPTEE  XLYIII. 

TWO   ALTERNATIVES. 

When  Judith  returned  to  Othello  Cottage,  she  was 
surprised  to  see  a  man  promenading  around  it,  flattening 
his  nose  at  the  window,  so  as  to  bring  his  eyes  against 
the  glass,  then,  finding  that  the  breath  from  his  nostrils 
dimmed  the  pane,  wiping  the  glass  and  again  flattening 
his  nose.  At  first  he  held  his  hands  on  the  window- 
ledge,  but  being  incommoded  by  the  refraction  of  the 
light,  put  his  open  hands  against  the  pane,  one  on  each 
side  of  his  face.  Having  satisfied  himself  at  one  case- 
ment, he  went  to  another,  and  made  the  same  desperate 
efforts  to  see  in  at  that. 

Judith  coming  up  to  the  door,  and  putting  the  key  in, 
disturbed  him,  he  started,  turned,  and  with  a  nose  much 
like  putty,  but  rapidly  purpling  with  returned  circula- 
tion, disclosed  the  features  of  Mr.  Hcantlebray,  Senior. 

"Ah,  ha!"  said  that  gentleman,  in  no  way  discon- 
certed; "here  I  have  you,  after  having  been  looking  for 
my  orphing  charmer  in  every  direction  but  the  right  one. 
"With  your  favor  I  will  come  inside  and  have  a  chat." 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  Judith,  "  but  I  do  not  desire  to 
admit  visitors." 

"  But  I  am  an  exception.  I'm  the  man  who  should 
have  looked  after  your  interests,  and  would  have  done  it 
a  deal  better  than  others.  And  so  there  has  been  a 
rumpus,  eh  ?  What  about  ?  " 

"  I  really  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Scantlebray,  but  I  am 
engaged  and  cannot  ask  you  to  enter,  nor  delay  convers- 
ing with  you  011  the  doorstep." 

"  Oh,  Jimminy  !  don't  consider  me.  I'll  stand  on  the 
doorstep  and  talk  with  3^011  inside.  Don't  consider  me ; 
go  on  with  what  you  have  to  do  and  let  me  amuse  you. 
It  must  be  dull  and  solitary  here,  but  I  will  enliven  you, 
though  I  have  not  my  brother's  gifts.  Now,  Obadiah  is 
a  man  with  a  genius  for  entertaining  people.  He  missed 


358  IN  THE  EOAU  OF  THE  SEA. 

his  way  when  he  started  in  life ;  he  would  have  made  a 
comic  actor.  Bless  your  simple  heart,  had  that  man 
appeared  011  the  boards,  he  would  have  brought  the 
house  down — 

"  I  have  no  doubt  whatever  he  missed  his  way  when 
he  took  to  keeping-  an  asylum,"  said  Judith, 

"  We  have  all  our  gifts,"  said  Scantlebray.  "  Mine  is 
architecture,  and  'pon  my  honor  as  a  gentleman,  I  do 
admire  the  structure  of  Othello  Cottage,  uncommon. 
You  won't  object  to  my  pulling  out  my  tape  and  taking 
the  plan  of  the  edifice,  will  you  ?  " 

"  The  house  belongs  to  Captain  Coppinger ;  consult 
him." 

"My  dear  orphing,  not  a  bit.  I'm  not  on  the  best 
terms  with  that  gent.  There  lies  a  tract  of  ruffled  water 
between  us.  Not  that  I  have  given  him  cause  for  offence, 
but  that  he  is  not  sweet  upon  me.  He  took  off  my  hands 
the  management  of  your  affairs  in  the  valuation  business, 
and  let  me  tell  you — between  me  and  you  and  that  post 
yonder  " — he  walked  in  and  laid  his  hand  on  a  beam— 
"  that  he  mismanaged  it  confoundedly.  He  is  your  hus- 
band, I  am  well  aware,  and  I  ought  not  to  say  this  to  you. 
He  took  the  job  into  his  hands  because  he  had  an  eye 
to  you,  I  knew  that  well  enough.  But  he  hadn't  the 
gift — the  faculty.  Now  I  have  made  all  that  sort  of 
thing  my  specialty.  How  many  rooms  have  you  in  this 
house  ?  What  does  that  door  lead  to  ?  " 

"  Really,  Mr.  Scantlebray,  you  must  excuse  me ;  I  am 
busy." 

"  O,  yes — vastly  busy.  Walking  on  the  cliffs,  eh  ! 
Alone,  eh  ?  Well,  mum  is  the  word.  Come,  make  me 
your  friend  and  tell  me  all  about  it.  How  came  you 
here  1  There  are  all  kind  of  stories  afloat  about  the 
quarrel  between  you  and  your  husband,  and  he  is  an 
Eolus,  a  Blustering  Boreas,  all  the  winds  in  one  box. 
Not  surprised.  He  blew  up  a  gale  against  me  once. 
Domestic  felicity  is  a  fable  of  the  poets.  Home  is  a 
region  of  cyclones,  tornadoes,  hurricanes — what  you 
like;  anything  but  a  Pacific  Ocean.  Now,  you  won't 
mind  my  throwing  an  eye  round  this  house,  will  you— 
a  scientific  eye  ?  Architecture  is  my  passion." 

"  Mr.  Scantlebray,  that  is  my  bedroom ;  I  forbid  you 
touching  the  handle.  Excuse  me — but  I  must  request 
you  to  leave  me  in  peace." 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  359 

"  My  dear  creature,"  said  Scantlebray,  "  scientific 
thirst  before  all.  It  is  uruslakable  save  by  the  acquisition 
of  wliat  it  desires.  The  structure  of  this  house,  as  well 
as  its  object,  has  always  been  a  puzzle  to  me.  So  your 
aunt  was  to  have  lived  here — the  divine,  the  fascinating 
Dioiiysia,  as  I  remember  her  years  ago.  It  wasn't  built 
for  the  lovely  Dionysia,  was  it  ?  No.  Then  for  what 
object  was  it  built?  And  why  so  long-  untenanted  ? 
These  are  nuts  for  you  to  crack." 

"I  do  not  trouble  myself  about  these  questions.  I 
must  pray  you  to  depart." 

"In  half  the  twinkle  of  an  eye,"  said  Scantlebray. 
Then  he  seated  himself.  "  Come,  you  haven't  a  supera- 
bundance of  friends.  Make  me  one  and  unburden  your 
soul  to  me.  What  is  it  all  about  ?  Why  are  you  here  ? 
What  has  caused  this  squabble  ?  I  have  a  brother  a 
solicitor  at  Bodmin.  Let  me  jot  down  the  items,  and 
we'll  get  a  case  out  of  it.  Trust  me  as  a  friend,  and  I'll 
have  you  righted.  I  hear  Miss  Trevisa  has  come  in  for 
a  fortune.  Jt>e  a  good  girl,  set  your  back  against  her 
and  show  fight." 

"  I  will  thank  you  to  leave  the  house,"  said  Judith, 
haughtily.  "  A  moment  ago  you  made  reference  to  your 
honor  as  a  gentleman.  I  must  appeal  to  that  same 
honor  which  you  pride  yourself  on  possessing,  and,  by 
virtue  of  that,  request  you  to  depart." 

"  I'll  go,  I'll  go.  But,  my  dear  child,  why  are  you  in 
such  a  hurry  to  get  rid  of  me  ?  Are  you  expecting  some 
one  ?  It  is  an  odd  tiling,  b^t.  as  I  came  along  I  was 
overtaken  by  Mr.  Oliver  Menaida,  making  his  way  to  the 
downs — to  look  at  the  sea,  which  is  rough,  and  inhale 
the  breeze  of  the  ocean,  of  course.  At  one  time,  I  am 
informed,  you  made  daily  visits  to  Polzeath,  daily  visits 
while  Captain  Coppinger  was  on  the  sea.  Since  his 
return,  I  am  informed,  these  visits  have  been  discon- 
tinued. Is  it  possible  that  instead  of  your  visiting  Mr. 
Oliver,  Mr.  Oliver  is  now  visiting  you — here,  in  this  cot- 
tage ?  " 

A  sudden  slash  across  the  back  and  shoulders  made 
Mr.  Scantlebray  jump  and  bound  aside.  Coppinger 
had  entered,  and  was  armed  with  a  stout  walking- 
stick. 

"  \Yhat  brings  you  here  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I   came   to   pay  my   respect^   to   the  grass-widow,' 


360  IN  THE  ROAtt  OF  THE  SEA. 

sneered  Scantlebray,  as  lie  sidled  to  the  door  and  bolted, 
but  not  till,  with  a  face  full  of  malignity,  he  had  shaken 
his  fist  at  Coppinger,  behind  his  back. 

"  What  brings  this  man  here  ?  "  asked  the  Captain. 

"Impertinence — nothing  else,"  answered  Judith. 

"  What  was  that  he  said  about  Oliver  Menaida  1 " 

"  His  insolence  will  not  bear  reporting." 

"  You  are  right.  He  is  a  cur,  and  deserves  to  be 
kicked,  not  spoken  to  or  spoken  of.  I  heed  him  not. 
There  is  in  him  a  grudge  against  me.  He  thought  at  one 
time  that  I  would  have  taken  his  daughter — do  you  re- 
call speaking  to  me  once  about  the  girl  that  you  sup- 
posed was  a  fit  mate  for  me  ?  I  laughed — I  thought  you 
had  heard  the  chatter  about  Polly  Scantlebray  and  me. 
A  bold,  fine  girl,  full  of  blood  as  a  cherry  is  full  of  juice 
— one  of  the  stock — but  with  better  looks  than  the  men, 
yet  with  the  assurance,  the  effrontery  of  her  father.  A 
girl  to  laugh  and  talk  with,  not  to  take  to  one's  heart.  I 
care  for  Polly  Scantlebray  !  Not  I !  That  man  has 
never  forgiven  me  the  disappointment  because  I  did  not 
take  her.  I  never  intended  to.  I  despised  her.  Now 
you  know  all.  Now  you  soo  why  he  hates  mo.  I  do  not 
care.  I  am  his  match.  But  I  will  not  have  him  insolent 
to  you.  What  did  he  say  ?  " 

It  was  a  relief  to  Judith  that  Captain  Coppinger  had 
not  heard  the  words  that  Mr.  Scantlebray  had  used. 
They  would  havo  inflamed  his  jealousy,  and  fired  him 
into  fury  against  tho  speaker. 

"He  told  me  that  ho  had  been  passed,  on  his  way 
hither,  by  Mr.  Oliver  Menaida,  coming  to  tho  cliffs  to  in- 
hale the  sea  air  and  look  at  the  angry  ocean." 

Captain  Coppinger  was  satisfied,  or  pretended  to  bo 
so.  He  went  to  tho  door  and  shut  it,  but  not  till  he  had 
gone  outside  and  looked  round  to  see,  so  Judith 
thought,  whothor  Oliver  Menaida  were  coining  that  way. 
quite  as  much  as  to  satisfy  himself  that  Mr.  Scantlebray 
was  not  lurking  round  a  corner  listening. 

No  !  Oliver  Menaida  would  not  come  there.  Of  that 
Judith  was  quite  sure.  He  had  the  delicacy  of  mind  and 
the  good  sense  not  to  risk  her  reputation  by  approach- 
ing Othello  Cottage.  When  he  had  made  that  offer  to 
her  she  had  known  that  his  own  heart  spoke,  but  lie  had 
veiled  its  speech  and  had  made  the  offer  as  from  his 
father,  and  in  such  a.  way  as  not  to  offend  her.  Only 


/JV  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  361 

when  she  had  accused  herself  of  attempted  murder  did 
he  break  through  his  reserve  to  show  her  his  rooted 
confidence  in  her  innocence,  in  spite  of  her  confession. 

When,  the  door  was  fast,  Coppinger  canie  over  to  Ju- 
dith, and,  standing  at  a  little  distance  from  her,  said  : 

''  Judith,  look  at  me." 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  him.  He  was  pale  and  his  face 
lined,  but  he  had  recovered  greatly  since  that  day 
when  she  had  seen  him  suffering-  from  the  effects  of  the 
poison. 

"  Judith,"  said  he,  "I  know  all." 

"  What  do  you  know  ?  " 

:'  You  did  not  poison  me." 

"  1  mixed  and  prepared  the  bowl  for  you." 

:k  Yes — but  the  poison  had  been  put  into  the  oatmeal 
before,  not  by  you,  not  with  your  knowledge." 

She  was  silent.  She  Avas  no  adept  at  lying  :  she  could 
not  invent  another  falsehood  to  convince  him  of  her 
guilt. 

"I  know  how  it  all  came  about,"  pursued  Captain  Cop- 
pinger. "  The  cook,  Jane,  luis  told  me.  Jamie  came 
into  the  kitchen  with  a  blue  paper  in  his  hand,  asked  for 
the  oatmeal,  and  put  in  the  contents  of  the  paper  so 
openly  as  not  in  the  least  to  arouse  suspicion.  Not  till 
I  was  taken  ill  and  made  inquiries  did  the  woman  con- 
nect his  act  with  what  followed.  I  have  found  the  blue 
paper,  and  on  it  it  is  written,  in  Mr.  Menaida's  hand- 
writing, which  I  know,  '  Arstmic.  Poison :  for  Jamie, 
only  to  be  used  for  the  dressing  of  bird-skins,  and  a  lim- 
ited amount  to  be  served  to  him  at  a  time.'  Now  I  am 
satisfied,  because  I  know  your  character,  and  because  I 
saw  innocence  in  your  manner  when  you  came  down  to 
me  on  the  second  occasion,  and  dashed  the  bowl  from  my 
lips — I  saw  then  that  you  were  innocent." 

Judith  said  nothing.     Her  eyes  rested  on  the  ground. 

"  I  had  angered  that  fool  of  a  boy,  I  had  beaten  him. 
In  a  fit  of  sullen  revenge,  and  without  calculating  either 
Jiow  best  to  do  it,  or  what  the  consequences  would  be, 
he  went  to  the  place  where  he  knew  the  arsenic  was — 
Mr.  Menaida  had  impressed  on  him  the  danger  of  play- 
ing with  the  poison — and  he  abstracted  it.  But  he  had 
not  the  wit  or  cunning  generally  present  in  idiots — 

"  He  is  no  idiot,"  said  Judith. 

"  No,  in  fools,"  said  Coppinger,  "  to  put  the  poison  into 


362  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SBA. 

the  oatmeal  secretly  when  110  one  was  in  the  kitchen. 
He  asked  the  cook  for  the  meal  and  mingled  the  con- 
tents of  the  paper  into  it  so  openly  as  to  disarm  sus- 
picion." 

He  paused  for  Judith  to  speak,  but  she  did  not. 

He  went  on:  "Then  you,  in  utter  guilelessness,  pre- 
pared my  breakfeast  for  me,  as  instructed  by  Miss 
Trevisa.  Next  morning-  you  did  the  same,  but  were 
either  suspicious  of  evil  through  missing  the  paper 
from  your  cabinet,  or  drawer,  or  wherever  you  kept  it, 
or  else  Jamie  confessed  to  you  what  he  had  done. 
Thereupon  you  rushed  to  me  to  save  me  from  taking 
another  portion.  I  do  not  know  that  I  would  have 
taken  it ;  I  had  formed  a  half-suspicion  from  the  burn- 
ing sensation  in  my  throat,  and  from  what  I  saw  in  the 
spoon — but  there  was  no  doubt  in  my  mind  after  the  first 
discovery  that  you  were  guiltless.  I  sought  the  whole 
matter  out,  as  far  as  I  was  able.  Jamie  is  guilty — not 
you." 

"And,"  said  Judith,  drawing  a  long  breath,  "what 
about  Jamie  ? " 

"There  are  two  alternatives,"  said  Coppinger;  "the 
boy  is  dangerous.  Never  again  shall  he  come  under  my 
roof." 

"  No,"  spoke  Judith,  "  no,  ho  must  not  go  to  the  Glaze 
again.  Let  him  remain  here  with  me.  I  will  take  care 
of  him  that  he  does  mischief  to  no  one.  He  would  never 
have  hurt  you  had  not  you  hurt  him.  Forgive  him,  be- 
cause he  was  aggravated  to  it  by  the  unjust  and  cruel 
treatment  he  received." 

"The  boy  is  a  mischievous  idiot,"  said  Coppinger; 
"  he  must  not  be  allowed  to  be  at  large." 

"  What,  then,  are  your  alternatives  ?  " 

"In  the  first  place,  I  propose  to  send  him  back  to 
that  establishment  Avheiice  he  should  never  have  been 
released,  to  Scantlebray's  Asylum." 

"  No — no — 110  !  "  gasped  Judith.  "  You  do  not  know 
what  that  place  is.  I  do.  I  got  into  it.  I  saw  how. 
Jamie  had  been  treated." 

"  He  cannot  be  treated  too  severely.  He  is  danger- 
ous. You  refuse  this  alternative  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,  I  do." 

"  Very  well.  Then  I  put  the  matter  in  the  hands  of 
justice,  and  he  is  proceeded  against  and  convicted  as 


TW  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  363 

having1  attempted  my  life  with  poison.  To  jail  he  will 
go." 

It  was  as  Judith  had  feared.  There  were  but  two 
destinations  for  Jamie,  her  dear,  dear  brother,  the  son 
of  that  blameless  father — jail  or  an  asylum. 

"  Oh,  110  !  no — no  !  not  that !  "  cried  Judith. 

"  One  or  the  other.  I  give  you  six  hours  to  choose," 
said  Coppinger.  Then  he  went  to  the  door,  opened  it, 
and  stood  looking1  seaward.  Suddenly  he  started,  "  Ha ! 
the  Black  Prince."  He  turned  in  the  door  and  said  to 
Judith :  "  One  hour  after  sunset  come  to  Pentyre  Glaze. 
Come  alone,  and  tell  me  your  decision.  I  will  wait  for 
that." 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

NOTHING   LIKE   GROG. 

The  Black  Prince  had  been  observed  by  Oliver  Men- 
aida.  He  did  not  know  for  certain  that  the  vessel  he 
saw  in  the  oiftng  was  the  smuggler's  ship,  but  he  sus- 
pected it,  as  he  knew  that  CoppingBr  was  in  daily  ex- 
pectation of  her  arrival.  He  brought  his  father  to  the 
cliffs,  and  the  old  man  at  once  identified  her. 

Oliver  considered  what  was  to  be  done. 

A  feint  was  to  be  made  at  a  point  lower  down  the 
coast  so  as  to  attract  the  coastguard  in  that  direction; 
whereas,  she  \vas  to  run  for  Pentyre  as  soon  as  night 
fell,  with  all  lights  hidden,  and  to  discharge  her  cargo 
in  the  little  cove. 

Oliver  knew  pretty  well  who  was  confederate  with 
Coppinger,  or  were  in  his  employ.  His  father  was  able  to 
furnish  him  with  a  good  deal  of  information,  not  per- 
haps very  well  authenticated,  all  resting  on  gossip.  He 
resolved  to  have  a  look  at  these  men,  and  observe  whether 
they  were  making  preparations  to  assist  Coppinger  in 
clearing  the  Black  Prince  the  moment  she  arrived  off 
the  cove.  But  he  found  that  he  had  not  far  to  look. 
They  were  drawn  to  the  cliffs  one  after  another  to  ob- 
serve the  distant  vessel. 

Oliver  now  made  his  way  to  the  coastguard  station, 
and  to  reach  it  went  round  by  Wadebridge,  and  this  he 
did  because  he  wished  to  avoid  being  noticed  going  to 
the  Preventive  Station  across  the  estuary  at  the  Doom 
Bar  above  St.  Enodoc.  On  reaching  his  destination  he 
was  shown  into  an  ante-room,  where  he  had  to  wait  some 
minutes,  because  the  captain  happened  to  be  engaged. 
He  had  plenty  to  occupy  his  mind.  There  was  that 
mysterious  confession  of  Judith  that  she  had  tried  to 
poison  the  man  who  persisted  in  considering  himself  as 
her  husband,  in  spite  of  her  resistance,  and  who  was 
holding  her  in  a  condition  of  bondage  in  his  house. 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  365 

Oliver  did  riot  for  a  moment  believe  that  she  had  inten- 
tionally sought  his  life.  He  had  seen  enough  of  her  to 
gauge  her  character,  and  he  knew  that  she  was  incap- 
able of  committing  a  crime.  That  she  might  have  given 
poison  in  ignorance  and  by  accident  was  possible ;  how 
this  had  happened  it  Avas  in  vain  for  him  to  attempt  to 
conjecture ;  he  could,  however,  quite  believe  that  an  in- 
nocent and  sensitive  conscience  like  that  of  Judith  might 
feel  the  pangs  of  self-reproach  when  hurt  had  come  to 
Coppinger  through  her  negligence. 

Oliver  could  also  believe  that  the  smuggler  captain 
attributed  her  act  to  an  evil  motive.  He  was  not  the 
man  to  believe  in  guilelessness,  and  when  he  found  that  he 
had  been  partly  poisoned  by  the  woman  whom  he  daily 
tortured  almost  to  madness,  he  would  at  once  conclude 
that  a  premeditated  attempt  had  been  made  on  his  life. 
What  course  would  he  pursue?  Would  he  make  this 
wretched  business  public  and  bring  a  criminal  action 
against  the  unfortunate  and  unhappy  girl  who  was 
linked  to  him  against  her  will f? 

Oliver  saw  that  if  he  could  obtain  Coppinger's  ar- 
rest on  some  such  a  charge  as  smuggling,  he  might 
prevent  this  scandal,  and  save  Judith  from  much  humil- 
iation and  misery.  He  Avas  therefore  most  desirous  to 
effect  the  capture  of  Coppinger  at  once,  and  flagrante 
delicto. 

As  he  Avaited  in  the  ante-room  a  harsh  voice  within 
Avas  audible  which  he  recognized  as  that  of  Mr.  Scantle- 
bray.  Presently  the  door  Avas  half  opened,  and  he  heard 
the  coastguard  captain  say  : 

"  I  trust  you  rewarded  the  felloAv  for  his  information. 
You  may  apply  to  me— 

"O  royally,  royally." 

"  And  for  furnishing  you  Avith  the  code  of  signals  I  " 

"  Imperially — imperially." 

"  That  is  well — never  underpay  in  these  matters." 

"Do  not  fear  !  I  emptied  my  pockets.  And  as  to  the 
information  you  have  received  through  me — rely  on  it  as 
you  Avould  on  the  Bank  of  England." 

"  You  have  been  deceived  and  befooled,"  said  Oliver, 
unable  to  resist  the  chance  of  delivering  a  slap  at  a 
man  for  Avhom  he  entertained  a  peculiar  aversion,  having 
heard  much  concerning  him  from  his  father. 

"What  do  you  mean  V 


366  IN  THE  HOAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

"  That  the  shilling1  you  gave  the  clerk  for  his  infor- 
mation, and  the  half-crown  for  his  signal  table  were 
worth  what  you  got — the  information  was  false,  and  was 
intended  to  mislead." 

Scantlebray  colored  purple.  "  What  do  you  know  ? 
You  know  nothing:.  You  are  in  league  with  them." 

"  Take  care  what  you  say,"  said  Oliver. 

"  I  maintain,"  said  Scantlebray,  somewhat  cowed  by 
his  demeanor,  "  that  what  I  have  said  to  the  captain 
here  is  something-  of  which  you  know  nothing- — and 
which  is  of  importance  to  him  to  know." 

"  And  I  maintain  that  you  have  been  hoodwinked," 
answered  Oliver.  "  But  it  matters  not.  The  event  will 
prove  Avhich  of  us  is  on  the  rig-lit  track." 

"  Yes,"  laughed  Scantlebray,  "  so  be  it ;  and  let  me 
bet  you,  Captain,  and  you  Mr.  Oliver  Menaida — that  I 
am  on  the  scent  of  something-  else.  I  believe  I  know 
where  Coppinger  keeps  his  stores,  and — but  you  shall 
see,  and  Captain  Cruel  also,  ha,  ha  !  " 

Rubbing  his  hands  he  went  out. 

Then  Oliver  beg'g'ed  a  vvord  Avith  the  Preventive  cap- 
tain, and  told  him  what  he  had  overheard,  and  also  that 
he  knew  where  was  the  cave  in  which  the  smugglers  had 
their  boat  and  to  which  they  ran  the  cargo  first,  before 
removing-  it  to  their  inland  stores. 

"I'm  not  so  certain  the  Black  Prince  dare  venture 
nigh  the  coast  to-iiig-ht,"  said  the  Captain,  "  because  of 
the  sea  and  the  011- shore  wind.  But  the  glass  is  rising" 
and  the  wind  may  change.  Then  shell  risk  it  for  cer- 
tain. Now,  look  you  here.  I  can't  go  with  you  myself 
to-nig-ht,  because  1  must  be  here  ;  and  I  can  only  let  you 
have  six  men." 

"  That  will  suffice." 

"  Under  Wyvill.  I  cannot,  of  course,  put  them  under 
you,  but  Wyvill  shall  command.  He  bears  a  grudge 
against  Coppinger,  and  will  be  rejoiced  to  have  the 
chance  of  paying-  it  out.  But,  mind  you,  it  is  possible 
that  the  Black  Prince  dare  not  run  in,  because  of  the 
weather,  at  Pentyre  Cove,  she  may  run  somewhere  else, 
either  down  the  coast  or  higher  up.  Coppinger  has  other 
ovens  than  one.  You  know  the  term.  His  store-places 
are  ovens.  We  can't  find  them,  but  we  know  that  there 
are  several  of  them  along  the  coast,  just  as  there  are  a 
score  of  landing-places.  When  -one  is  watched,  then  an 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  367 

other  is  used,  and  that  is  how  wo  are  thrown  out.  There 
are  plenty  of  folk  interested  in  defrauding  the  revenue 
in  every  parish  between  Hartland  and  Lund's  End,  and 
let  the  Black  Prince,  or  any  other  smuggling  vessel  ap- 
pear where  she  will,  there  she  has  ready  helpers  to  shore 
her  cargo,  and  convey  it  to  the  ovens.  When  we  appear 
it  is  signalled  at  once  to  the  vessel,  and  she  runs  away 
up  or  down  the  coast,  and  discharges  somewhere  else, 
before  we  can  reach  the  point.  Now,  I  do  not  say  that 
Avhat  you  tell  me  is  not  true,  and  that  it  is  not  Cop- 
pinger's  intent  to  land  the  goods  in  the  Pentyre  Cove, 
but  if  we  are  smelt,  or  if  the  wind  or  sea  forbid  a  landing 
there,  away  goes  the  Black  Prince  and  runs  her  cargo 
somewhere  else.  That  is  Avhy  I  cannot  accompany  you, 
nor  can  I  send  you  with  more  than  half  a  dozen  men.  I 
must  be  on  the  look  out,  and  I  must  be  prepared  in  the 
event  of  her  coming  suddenly  back  and  attempting  to 
land  her  goods  at  Porthleze,  or  Constantino,  or  Har- 
lyn.  What  you  shall  do  is — remain  here  with  me  till 
near  dusk,  and  then  you  shall  have  a  boat  and  my  men 
and  get  round  Pentyre,  and  you  shall  take  possession  of 
that  cave.  You  shall  take  with  you  provisions  for  twenty- 
four  hours.  If  the  Black  Prince  intends  to  make  that 
bay  and  discharge  there,  then  she  will  wait  her  oppor- 
tunity. If  she  cannot  to-night,  she  will  to-morrow 
night.  Now,  seize  every  man  who  comes  into  that  cave, 
and  don't  let  him  out.  You  see  "I  " 

"  Perfectly." 

"  Very  well.  Wyvill  shall  be  in  command,  and  you 
shall  be  the  guide,  and  I  will  speak  to  him  to  pay  proper 
attention  to  what  you  recommend.  You  see  ? " 

"Exactly." 

"  Very  well — now  we  shall  have  something  to  eat  and 
to  drink,  which  is  better,  and  drink  that  is  worth  the 
drinking,  which  is  best  of  all.  Here  is  some  cognac, 
it  was  run  goods  that  we  captured  and  confiscated.  Look 
at  it.  I  wish  there  were  artificial  light  and  you  would 
see,  it  is  liquid  amber — a  liqueur.  When  you've  tasted 
that,  ah — ha !  you  will  say,  '  Glad  I  lived  to  this  moment.' 
There  is  all  the  difference,  my  boy,  between  your  best 
cognac  and  common  brandy — the  one,  the  condensed 
sunshine  in  the  queen  of  fruit  sublimed  to  an  essence ; 
the  other,  coarse,  raw  fire — all  the  difference  that  there 
is  between  a  princess  of  blood  royal  and  a  gypsy 


368  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

wench.     Drink  and  do  not  fear.     This  is  not  the  stuff  to 
smoke  the  head  and  clog-  the  stomach."  • 

"When  Oliver  Meiiaida  finally  started,  he  left  the  first 
officer  of  the  coastguard,  in  spite  of  his  assurances,  some- 
what smoky  in  brain,  and  not  in  the  condition  to  form 
the  clearest  estimate  of  what  should  be  done  in  a  con- 
tingency. The  boat  was  laden  with  provisions  for  twen- 
ty-four hours,  and  placed  under  the  command  of  Wyvill. 

The  crew  had  not  rowed  far  before  one  of  them  sang 
out : 

"  Gearge !  " 

"  Aye,  aye,  mate  !  "  responded  Wyvill. 

"  I  say,  Gearge.     Be  us  a  going  round  Pentyre  ?  " 

"I  reckon  we  be." 

"  And  wet  to  the  marrowbone  we  shall  be." 

"  I  reckon  we  shall." 

Then  a  pause  in  the  conversation.  Presently  from 
another,  "  Gearge  !  " 

"  Aye,  aye,  Will !  " 

"  I  say  Gearge  !  where  be  the  spirits  to  ?  There's  a  keg 
o'  water,  but  sure  alive  the  spirits  be  forgotten." 

"  Bless  my  body  !  "  exclaimed  Wyvill,  "  I  reckon  you're 
right.  Here's  a  go." 

"  It  will  never  do  for  us  to  be  twenty -four  hours  wi' 
salt  water  outside  of  us  and  fresh  wi'in,"  said  Will. 
What's  a  hat  wi'out  a  head  in  it,  or  boots  wi'out  feet  in 
'em,  or  a  man  wi'out  spirits  in  his  in'ard  parts  ?  " 

"  Dear,  alive !  'Tis  a  nuisance,"  said  Wyvill.  "  Who's 
been  the  idiot  to  forget  the  spirits  ? " 

"  Gearge !  " 

"  Aye,  aye,  Samson  !  " 

"  I  say,  Gearge  !  hadn't  us  better  run  over  to  the  Rock 
and  get  a  little  anker  there  '?  " 

"I  reckon  it  wouldn't  be  amiss,  mate,"  responded 
Wyvill.  To  Oliver's  astonishment  and  annoyance,  the 
boat  was  turned  to  run  across  to  a  little  tavern,  at  what 
was  called  "The  Rock." 

He  remonstrated.  This  was  injudicious  and  unneces- 
sary. 

"  Onnecessary,"  said  Wyvill.  "  Why,  you  don't  sup- 
pose firearms  will  go  off  wi'out  a  charge  1  It's  the  same 
wi'  men.  What's  the  good  of  a  human  being  unless  he 
be  loaded — and  what's  his  proper  load  but  a  drop  d 
spirits." 


IN   THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  369 

Then  one  of  the  rowers  sang"  out : 

"  Water-drinkers  are  dull  asses 

When  they're  met  together. 
Milk  is  meat  for  infancy  ; 
Ladies  like  to  sip  Bohea  ; 
Not  such  stuff  for  you  and  me, 

When  we're  met  together." 

Oliver  was  not  surprised  that  so  few  captures  were  ef- 
fected on  the  coast,  when  those  set  to  watch  it  loved  so 
dearly  the  very  goods  they  were  to  watch  against  being- 
imported  untaxed. 

On  reaching  the  shore,  the  man  Samson  and  another 
were  left  in  charge  of  the  boat,  while  Wyyill,  Will,  and 
the  rest  went  up  to  the  Rock  Inn  to  have  a  glass  for  the 
good  of  the  house,  and  to  lade  themselves  with  an  anker 
of  brandy  which,  during  their  wait  in  the  cave,  was  to 
be  distributed  among  them.  Oliver  thought  it  well  to 
go  to  the  tavern  as  well.  He  was  impatient  and  thought 
they  would  dawdle  there,  and,  perhaps,  take  more  than 
the  nip  to  which  they  professed  themselves  content  to 
limit  themselves.  Pentyre  Point  had  to  be  rounded  in 
rough  water,  and  they  must  be  primed  to  enable  them  to 
round  Pentyre. 

"  You  see,"  said  Wyvill,  who  seemed  to  suppose  that 
some  sort  of  an  explanation  of  his  conduct  was  due. 
"  When  ropes  be  dry  they  be  terrible  slack.  Wet  'em 
and  they  are  taut.  It  is  the  same  wi'  men's  muscles. 
We've  Pentyre  Point  to  get  round.  Very  straiiiin'  to  the 
arms,  and  I  reckon  it  couldn't  be  done  unless  we  wetted 
the  muscles.  That's  reason.  That's  convincin'." 

At  the  Rock  Tavern  the  Preventive  men  found  the 
clerk  of  S.  Enodoc,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  on 
the  settle,  his  legs  stretched  out  before  him,  considering 
one  of  his  knees  that  was  threadbare,  and  trying  to  make 
up  his  mind  whether  the  trouser  would  hold  out  another 
day  without  a  thread  being  run  through  the  thin  por- 
tion, and  whether  if  a  day,  then  perhaps  two  days,  and 
if  perchance  for  two  days,  then  for  three.  But  if  for 
three,  then  why  not  for  four  ?  And  if  for  four,  then  pos- 
sibly for  five — anyhow,  as  far  as  he  could  judge,  there 
was  no  immediate  call  for  him  to  have  the  right  knee  of 
his  trouser  repaired  that  day. 

The  sexton-clerk  looked  up  when  the  party  entered, 


370  IN  THE  ROAR   OF   THE  SEA. 

and  greeted  them  each  man  by  name,  and  a  conversation 
ensued  relative  to  the  weather.  Each  described  his  own 
impressions  as  to  what  the  weather  had  been,  and  his  an- 
ticipations as  to  what  it  would  be." 

"  And  how's  your  missus  ?  " 

"  Middlin'— and  yours  1 " 

"  Same,  thanky'.  A  little  troubled  wi'  the  rheumat- 
ics." 

"  Tell  her  to  take  a  lump  o'  sugar  wi'  five  drops  o' 
turpentine." 

"I  will,  thanky"-- -and  so  on  for  half  an  hour,  at 
the  end  of  which  time  the  party  thought  it  time  to  rise, 
wipe  their  mouths,  shoulder  the  anker,  and  return  to 
the  boat. 

No  sooner  were  they  in  it,  and  had  thrust  off  from 
shore,  and  prepared  to  make  a  second  start,  than  Oliver 
touched  Wj^vill  and  said,  pointing1  to  the  land,  "  Look 
yonder." 

"  What !  " 

"  There  is  that  clerk.     Running",  actually  running1." 

"  I  reckon  he  be." 

"And  in  the  direction  of  Pentyre." 

"  So  he  be,  I  reckon." 

"  And  what  do  you  think  of  that  ?  " 

"  Nothing1,"  answered  Wyvill,  confusedly.  "  Why 
should  I  ?  He  can't  say  nothing-  about  where  we  be  go- 
ing. Not  a  word  of  that  was  said  while  ITS  was  there. 
I  don't  put  no  store  on  his  running." 

"  I  do,"  said  Oliver,  unable  to  smother  his  annoyance. 
"  This  folly  will  spoil  our  game." 

Wyvill  muttered,  "I  reckon  I'm  head  of  the  consavn 
and  not  you." 

Oliver  deemed  it  advisable,  as  the  words  were  said 
low,  to  pretend  that  he  did  not  hear  them. 

The  wind  had  somewhat  abated,  but  the  sea  was  run- 
ning1 furiously  round  Pentyre.  Happily  the  tide  was  g-o- 
ing  out,  so  that  tide  and  wind  were  conflicting-,  and  this 
enabled  the  rowers  to  g-et  round  Pentyre  between  the 
Point  and  the  Newland  Isle,  that  broke  the  force  of  the 
seas.  But  when  past  the  shelter  of  Newland,  doubling 
a  spur  of  Pentyre  that  ran  to  the  north,  the  rowers  had 
to  use  their  utmost  endeavors,  and  had  not  their  mus- 
cles been  moistened  they  might  possibly  have  declared 
it  impossible  to  proceed.  It  was  advisable  to  run  into 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  371 

the  cove  just  after  dark,  and  before  the  turn  of  the  tide, 
as,  in  the  event  of  the  Black  Prince  attempting  to  land 
her  cargo  there,  it  would  be  made  with  the  flow  of  the 
tide,  and  in  the  darkness. 

The  cove  was  reached  and  found  to  be  deserted.  Oli- 
ver showed  the  way,  and  the  boat  was  driven  up  on  the 
shingle  and  conveyed  into  the  smugglers'  cave  behind 
the  rock  curtain.  No  one  was  there.  Evidently,  from 
the  preparations  made,  the  smugglers  were  ready  for  the 
run  of  the  cargo  that  night. 

"  Now,"  said  Will,  one  of  the  Preventive  men,  "  us  hev' 
a'  labored  uncommon.  What  say  you,  mates  ?  Does  us 
desarve  a  drop  of  refreshment  or  does  us  not  ?  Every 
man  as  does  his  dooty  by  his  country  and  his  king 
should  be  paid  for  't,  is  my  doctrine.  What  do  y'  say, 
Gearge  ?  Sarve  out  the  grog  ? " 

"  I  reckon  yes.  Sarve  out  the  grog.  There's  nothing 
like  grog — I  think  it  was  Solomon  said  that,  and  he  was 
the  wisest  of  men." 

"  For  sure ;  he  made  a  song  about  it,"  said  one  of  the 
coastguard.  lc It  begins: 

"  '  A  plague  of  those  musty  old  lubbers, 

Who  tell  us  to  fast  and  to  think, 
And  patient  fall  in  with  life's  rubbers, 
With  nothing  but  water  to  drink.'  " 

"  To  be  sure,"  responded  Wy  vill,  "  never  was  a  truer 
word  said  than  when  Solomon  was  called  the  wisest  o' 
men." 


CHAPTER  L. 

PLAYING  FORFEITS. 

"  Here  am  I  once  more,"  said  Mr.  Scantlebray,  walking 
into  Othello  Cottage  with  a  rap  at  the  door  but  without 
waiting-  for  an  invitation  to  enter.  "  Come  back  like  the 
golden  summer,  but  at  a  quicker  rate.  How  are  you 
all  ?  I  left  you  rather  curtly — without  having-  had  time 
to  pay  my  proper  conge. 

Judith  and  Jamie  were  sitting-  over  the  fire.  No  can- 
dle had  been  lighted,  for,  though  a  g-ood  many  things 
had  been  brought  over  to  Othello  Cottage  for  their  use, 
candles  had  been  forgotten,  and  Judith  did  not  desire  to 
ask  for  more  than  was  furnished  her,  certainly  not  to  go 
to  the  Glaze  for  the  things  needed.  They  had  a  fire, 
but  not  one  that  blazed.  It  was  of  drift-wood,  that 
smouldered  and  would  not  flame,  and  as  it  burned  emitted 
a  peculiar  odor. 

Jamie  was  in  good  spirits,  he  chattered  and  laughed, 
and  Judith  made  pretence  that  she  listened,  but  her 
mind  was  absent,  she  had  cares  that  had  demands  on 
every  faculty  of  her  mind.  Moreover,  now  and  then  her 
thoughts  drifted  off  to  a  picture  that  busy  fancy  painted 
and  dangled  before  them — of  Portugal,  with  its  woods  of 
oranges,  golden  among  the  burnished  leaves,  and  its 
vines  hung  with  purple  grapes — with  its  glowing  sun, 
its  blue  glittering  sea — and,  above  all,  she  mused  011  the 
rest  from  fears,  the  cessation  from  troubles  which  would 
have  ensued,  had  there  been  a  chance  for  her  to  accept 
the  offer  made,  and  to  have  left  the  Cornish  coast  for 
ever. 

Looking  into  the  glowing  ashes,  listening  to  her 
thoughts  as  they  spoke,  and  seeming  to  attend  to  the 
prattle  of  the  boy,  Judith  was  surprised  by  the  entry  of 
Mr.  Scantlebray. 

"  There — disengaged,  that  is  capital,"  said  the  agent. 
"  The  very  thing  I  hoped.  And  now  we  can  have  a  talk. 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  373 

You  have  never  understood  that  I  was  your  sincere 
friend.  You  have  turned  from  me  and  looked  elsewhere, 
and  now  you  suffer  for  it.  But  I  am  like  all  the  best 
'metal — strong- and  bright  to  the  last;  and  see — I  have 
come  to  you  now  to  forewarn  you,  because  I  thought  that 
if  it  came  on  you  all  at  once  there  would  be  trouble  and 
bother." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Scantlebray.  •  It  is  true  that  we  are 
not  busy  just  now,  but  it  does  not  follow  that  we  are 
disposed  for  a  talk.  It  is  growing-  dark,  and  we  shall 
lock  up  the  cottag-e  and  g-o  to  bed." 

"  Oh,  I  will  not  detain  you  long-.  Besides  I'll  take  the 
wish  out  of  your  heart  for  bed  in  one  jiffy.  Look  here 
— read  this.  Do  you  know  the  handwriting- 1  " 

He  held  out  a  letter.  Judith  reluctantly  took  it.  She 
had  risen  ;  she  had  not  asked  Scantlebray  to  take  a  seat. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  that  is  the  writing-  of  Captain  Cop- 
ping-er." 

"  A  g-ood  bold  hand,"  said  the  agent,  "and  see  here  is 
his  seal  with  his  motto,  Thorough.  You  know  that  ?  " 

11  Yes — it  is  his  seal." 

"  Now  read  it." 

Judith  knelt  at  the  hearth. 

"  Blow,  blow  the  fire  up,  my  beauty,"  called  Scantle- 
bray to  Jamie.  "  Don't  you  see  that  your  sister  wants 
light,  and  is  running-  the  risk  of  blinding-  her  sweet 
pretty  eyes."  Jamie  puffed  vigorously  and  sent  out 
sparks  snapping  and  blinking",  and  broug-ht  the  wood  to 
a  white  glow,  by  which  Judith  was  able  to  decipher  the 
letter. 

It  was  a  formal  order  from  Cruel  Copping-er  to  Mr. 
Obadiah  Scantlebray  to  remove  James  Trevisa  that  even- 
ing-, after  dark,  from  Othello  Cottage  to  his  idiot  asylum, 
to  remain  there  in  custody  till  further  notice.  Judith 
remained  kneeling-,  with  her  eyes  on  the  letter,  after  she 
had  read  it.  She  was  considering-.  It  was  clear  to  her 
that  directly  after  leaving-  her  Captain  Copping-er  had 
formed  his  own  resolve,  either  impatient  of  waiting-  the 
six  hours  he  had  allowed  her,  or  because  he  thought  the 
alternative  of  the  Asylum  the  only  one  that  could  be  ac- 
cepted by  her,  and  it  was  one  that  would  content  him- 
self, as  the  only  one  that  avoided  exposure  of  a  scandal. 
But  there  were  other  asylums  than  that  of  Scantlebray, 
and  others  were  presumably  better  managed,  and  those 


374:  IN  THE  HO  AH   OF  TEE  SEA. 

in  charge  less  severe  in  their  dealings.  She  had  consid- 
ered this,  as  she  looked  into  the  fire.  *  But  a  new  idea 
had  also  at  the  same  time  lightened  in  her  mind,  and  she 
had  a  third  alternative  to  propose. 

She  had  been  waiting-  for  the  moment  when  to  go  to 
the  Glaze  and  see  Coppinger,  and  just  at  the  moment 
when  she  was  about  to  send  Jamie  to  bed  and  leave  the 
house  Scantlebray  came  in. 

"  Now  then,"  said  the  agent,  "  what  do  you  think  of 
me — that  I  am  a  real  friend  1  " 

"  I  thank  you  for  having  told  me  this,"  answered  Judith, 
"and  now  I  will  go  to  Pentyre.  I  beg  that  you  will  not 
allow  my  brother  to  be  conveyed  away  during  my  ab- 
sence. Wait  till  I  return.  Perhaps  Captain  Coppinger 
may  not  insist  on  the  removal  at  once.  If  you  are  a  real 
friend,  as  you  profess,  you  will  do  this  for  me." 

"  I  will  do  it  willingly.  That  I  am  a  real  friend  I  have 
shown  you  by  my  conduct.  I  have  come  beforehand  to 
break  news  to  you  which  might  have  been  too  great  and 
too  overwhelming  had  it  come  on  you  suddenly.  My 
brother  and  a  man  or  two  will  be  here  in  an  hour.  Go  by 
all  means  to  Captain  Cruel,  but,"  Scantlebray  winked 
an  eye,  "  I  don't  myself  think  you  will  prevail  with  him." 

"  t  will  thank  you  to  remain  here  for  half  an  hour 
with  Jamie,"  said  Judith,  coldly.  "  And  to  stay  all  pro- 
ceedings till  my  return.  If  I  succeed — well.  If  not, 
then  only  a  few  minutes  have  been  lost.  I  have  that  to 
say  to  Captain  Coppinger  which  may,  and  I  trust  will, 
lead  him  to  withdraw  that  order." 

"  Ilely  on  me.  I  am  a  rock  on  which  you  may  build," 
said  Scantlebray.  "  I  will  do  my  best  to  entertain  your 
brother,  though,  alas !  I  have  not  the  abilities  of  Oba- 
diah,  who  is  a  genius,  and  can  keep  folks  hour  by  hour 
going  from  one  roar  of  laughter  into  another." 

No  sooner  was  Judith  gone  than  Scantlebray  put  his 
tongue  into  one  side  of  his  cheek,  clicked,  pointed  over 
his  shoulder  with  his  thumb,  and  seated  himself  oppo- 
site Jamie  on  the  stool  beside  the  fire  which  had  been 
vacated  by  Judith.  Jamie  had  understood  nothing  of 
the  conversation  that  had  taken  place,  his  name  had  not 
been  mentioned,  and  consequently  his  attention  had  not 
been  drawn  to  it  away  from  some  chestnuts  he  had  found, 
or  which  had  been  given  to  him,  that  he  was  baking  in 
the  ashes  on  the  hearth. 


IN  THE  EOAR   OF  THE  SEA.  375 

"  Fond  of  hunting,  eh  ? "  asked  Scantlebray,  stretching 
his  legs  and  rubbing-  his  hands.  "  You  are  like  me — like 
to  be  in  at  the  death.  What  do  you  suppose  I  have  in 
my  pocket  ?  Why,  a  fox  with  a  fiery  tail.  Shall  we  run 
him  to  earth  ?  Shall  we  make  an  end  of  him  ?  Tally- 
ho  !  Tally-ho  !  here  he  is.  Oh,  sly  Reynard,  I  have  you 
by  the  ears."  And  forth  from  the  tail-pocket  of  his 
coat  Scantlebray  produced  a  bottle  of  brandy.  "  What 
say  you,  corporal,  shall  we  drink  his  blood  ?  Bring  me 
a  couple  of  glasses  and  I'll  pour  out  his  gore." 

"I  haven't  any,"  said  Jamie.  "Ju  and  I  have  two 
mugs,  that  is  all." 

"  And  they  will  do  famously.  Here  goes — off  with  the 
mask !  "  and  with  a  blow  he  knocked  away  the  head  and 
cork  of  the  bottle.  "No  more  running  away  for  you, 
my  beauty,  except  down  our  throats.  Mugs!  That  is 
famous.  Come,  shall, we  play  at  army  and  navy,  and  the 
forfeit  be  a  drink  of  Reynard's  blood  ? " 

Jamie  pricked  up  his  ears ;  he  was  always  ready  for  a 
game  of  play. 

"  Look  here,"  said  Scantlebray.  "  You  are  in  the  mili- 
tary, I  am  in  the  nautical  line.  Each  must  address  the 
other  by  some  title  in  accordance  with  the  profession 
each  professes,  and  the  forfeit  of  failure  is  a  pull  at  the 
bottle.  What  do  you  say  ?  I  will  begin.  Set  the  bottle 
there  between  us.  Now  then,  Sergeant,  they  tell  me 
your  aunt  lias  come  in  for  a  fortune.  How  much  ?  What 
is  the  figure,  eh  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,"  responded  Jamie,  and  was  at  once 
caught  up  with  "  Forfeit !  forfeit !  " 

"  Oh,  by  Jimminy,  there  am  I,  too,  in  the  same  box. 
Take  your  swig,  Commander,  and  pass  to  me." 

"  But  what  am  I  to  call  you  ?  "  asked  the  puzzle-headed 
boy. 

"  Mate,  or  captain,  or  boatswain,  or  admiral." 

"  I  can't  remember  all  that." 

"  Mate  will  do.  Always  say  mate,  whatever  you  ask 
or  answer.  Do  you  understand,  General  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Forfeit!  forfeit!  You  should  have  said  'Yes, 
mate.'"  Mr.  Scantlebray  put  his  hands  to  his  sides 
and  laughed.  "  Oh,  Jimminy !  there  am  I  again.  The 
instructor  as  bad  as  the  pupil.  I'm  a  bad  fellow  as  in- 
structor, that  I  am,  Field-Marshal.  So — your  Aunt  Di- 


376  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

onysia  has  come  in  for  some  thousands  of  pounds — how 
many  do  you  think  1  Have  you  heard  f " 

"  I  think  I've  heard— 

"Mate!  Mate!" 

"  I  think  I've  heard,  Mate." 

"Now,  how  many  do  you  remember  to  have  heard 
named  ?  Was  it  five  thousand  ?  That  is  what  I  heard 
named — eh,  Captain  ?  " 

"  Oh,  more  than  that,"  said  Jamie,  in  his  small  mind 
catching-  at  a  chance  of  talking-  big-,  "a  great  lot  more 
than  that." 

'  What,  ten  thousand  ?  " 

'I  dare  say ;  yes,  I  think  so." 

'  Forfeit !  forfeit !  pull  again,  Centurion." 

'Yes,  Mate,  I'm  sure." 

'Ten  thousand — why,  at  five  per  cent,  that's  a  nice 
little  sum  for  you  and  Ju  to  look  forward  to  when  the 
old  hull  springs  a  leak  and  goes  to  the  bottom." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Jamie,  vaguely.  He  could  not  look 
beyond  the  day,  moreover  he  did  not  understand  the  fig- 
urative speech  of  his  comrade. 

"  Forfeit  again,  General !  But  I'll  forgive  you  this 
time,  or  you'll  get  so  drunk  you'll  not  be  able  to  answer 
me  a  question.  Bless  my  legs  and  arms  !  on  that  pretty 
little  sum  one  could  afford  one's  self  a  new  tie  every 
Sunday.  You  will  prove  a  beau  and  buck  indeed  some 
day,  Captain  of  Thousands  !  And  then  you  won't  live  in 
this  little  hole.  By  the  way,  I  hoar  old  Dunes  Trevisa, 
I  beg  pardon,  Field-Marshal  Sir  James,  I  mean  your 
much  respected  aunt,  Miss  Trevisa,  has  got  a  charming 
box  down  by  8.  Austell.  You'll  ask  me  down  for  the 
shooting,  won't  you,  Commandcr-in-Chief  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  will,"  answered  Jamie. 

"And  you'll  give  me  the  best  bedroom,  and  will  have 
choice  dinners,  and  the  best  old  tawny  port,  eh  ?  " 

"  Yes,  to  bo  sure,"  said  the  boy,  flattered. 

"  Mate !  mate !  forfeit !  and  I  suppose  you'll  keep  a 
hunter  ?  " 

"  I  shall  have  two — three,"  said  Jamie. 

"  And  if  I  were  you,  I'd  keep  a  pack  of  fox-hounds." 

"I  will." 

"  That's  for  the  winter,  and  other  hounds  for  the  sum- 
mer." 

"  I  am  sure  I  will,  and  wear  a  red  coat," 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  377 

"  Famous  !  but— there  I  spare  you  this  time — you  for- 
feited again." 

"  No,  I  won't  be  spared,"  protested  the  boy. 

"As  for  a  wretched  little  hole  like  this  Othello  Cot- 
tage— "  said  Scantlebray.  "  But,  by  the  bye,  you  have 
never  shown  me  over  the  house.  How  many  rooms  are 
there  in  it,  Generalissimo  of  His  Majesty's  Forces c?  " 

'  There's  my  bedroom  there,"  said  Jamie. 

'  Yes  ;  and  that  door  leads  to  your  sister's  '?  " 

'  Yes.     And  there's  the  kitchen." 

'And  up -stairs?" 

'  There's  no  up-stairs." 

'  Now,  you  are  very  clever  — clever.  By  Ginger,  you 
must  be  to  be  Commander-in-chief ;  but  'pon  my  word, 
I  can't  believe  that.  No  up-stairs.  There  must  be  up- 
stairs." 

"  No,  there's  not." 

"  But  by  Jirnmiiiy  !  with  such  a  roof  as  this  house  has 
got,  and  a  little  round  window  in  the  gable.  There  must 
be  an  upstairs." 

"  No  there's  m?t." 

"  How  do  you  make  that  out  ?  " 

"  Because  there  are  no  stairs  at  all."  Then  Jamie 
jumped  up,  but  rolled  on  one  side,  the  brandy  he  had 
drunk  had  made  him  unsteady.  "  I'll  show  you  mate- 
mate — yes,  mate.  There  three  times  now  will  do  for 
times  I  haven't  said  it.  There — in  my  room.  The  floor 
is  rolling ;  it  won't  stay  steady.  There  are  cramps  in 
the  wall,  no  stairs,  and  so  you  get  up  to  where  it  all  is." 

"  All  what  is  1 '[ 

"  Forfeit,  forfeit !  "  shouted  Jamie.  "  Say  general  or 
something  military.  I  don't  know.  Ju  won't  let  me  go 
up  there ;  but  there's  tobacco,  for  one  thing." 

"  Where's  a  candle,  Corporal  ?  " 

"  There  is  none.  We  have  no  light  but  the  fire." 
Then  Jamie  dropped  back  on  his  stool,  unable  to  keep 
his  legs. 

"  I  am  more  provident  than  you.  I  have  a  lantern  out- 
side, unlighted,  as  I  thought  I  might  need  it  on  my  re- 
turn. The  nights  close  in  very  fast  and  very  dark  now, 
eh,  Commander  ?  " 

Mr.  Scaiitlebray  went  outside  the  cottage,  looked 
about  him,  specially  directing  his  eyes  toward  the  Glaze. 
Then  he  chuckled  and  said : 


378  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

"  Sent  Miss  Judith  on  a  wild-goose  chase,  have  I l?  Ah 
ha !  Captain  Coppinger,  I'll  have  a  little  entertainment 
for  you  to-night.  The  preventives  will  snatch  your  goods 
at  Porthleze  or  Coiistaiitine,  and  here  behind  your  back 
—I'll  attend  to  your  store  of  tobacco  and  whatever  else 
I  may  find." 

Then  he  returned  and  going1  to  the  fire  extracted  the 
candle  from  the  lantern  and  lighted  it  at  a  burning 
log. 

u  Halloa,  Captain  of  thousands !  Going  to  sleep  ? 
There's  the  bottle.  You  must  make  up  forfeits.  You've 
been  dishonest  1  fear  and  not  paid  half.  That  door  did 
you  say '? " 

But  Jamie  was  past  understanding  a  question,  and 
Mr.  Scaiitlebray  could  find  out  for  himself  now  what  he 
wanted  to  know.  Tluit  this  house  had  been  used  by 
Coppingor  as  a  store  for  some  of  the  smuggled  cargoes 
he  had  long'  suspected,  but  he  had  never  been  able  to 
obtain  any  evidence  which  would  justify  the  coastguard 
in  applying  to  the  justices  for  a  search-warrant.  Now 
he  would  be  able  to  look  about  it  at  his  leisure,  while 
Judith  was  absent.  He  did  not  suppose  Coppinger  was 
at  the  Glaze.  He  assumed  that  an  attempt  would  be 
made,  as  the  clerk  of  St.  Enodoc  had  informed  him,  to 
land  the  cargo  of  the  Black  Prince  to  the  west  of  the 
estuary  of  the  Camel,  and  he  supposed  that  Coppinger 
would  be  there  to  superintend.  He  had  used  the  letter 
sent  to  his  brother  to  induce  the  girl  to  go  to  Pentyre, 
and  so  leave  the  cottage  clear  for  him  to  search  it. 

Now,  holding  the  candle,  he  entered  the  bedroom  of 
Jamie,  and  soon  perceived  the  cramps  the  boy  had 
spoken  of  that  served  in  place  of  stairs.  Above  was  a 
door  into  the  attic,  whitewashed  over,  like  the  walls. 
Mr.  Scaiitlebray  climbed,  thrust  open  the  door  and  crept 
into  the  garret. 

"  Ah,  ha !  "  said  the  valuer.  "  So,  so,  Captain  !  I  have 
come  on  one  of  your  lairs  at  last.  And  I  reckon  I  will 
make  it  warm  for  you.  But,  by  Ginger,  it  is  a  pity  I 
can't  remove  some  of  what  is  here." 

He  prowled  about  in  the  roomy  loft,  searching  every 
corner.  There  were  a  few  small  kegs  of  spirit,  but  the 
stores  were  mostly  of  tobacco. 

In  about  ten  minutes  Mr.  Scaiitlebray  reappeared  in 
the  room  where  was  Jamie.  He  was  without  his  candle. 


7^  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  379 

The  poor  boy,  overcome  by  what  he  had  drunk,  had  fallen 
oil  the  floor  and  was  in  a  tipsy  sleep. 

Scantlebray  went  to  him. 

"  Come  along-  with  me,"  he  said.  "  Come,  there  is  no 
time  to  be  lost.  Come,  yon  fool !  " 

He  shook  him,  but  Jamie  would  not  be  roused,  he 
kicked  and  struck  out  with  his  fists. 

'  You  won't  come  !     I'll  make  you." 

Then  Scantlebray  caught  the  boy  by  the  shoulders  to 
drag1  him  to  the  door.  The  child  beg'aii  to  struggle  and 
resist. 

"  Oh  !  I'm  not  concerned  for  you,  fool,"  said  Scantle- 
bray. "If  you  like  to  stay  and  take  your  chance — my 
brother  will  be  here  to  carry  you  off  presently.  Will 
you  come  ? " 

Scantlebray  caught  the  boy  by  the  feet  and  tried  to 
drag-  him,  but  Jamie  clung-  to  the  table-legs. 

Scantlebray  uttered  an  oath — "  Stay,  you  fool,  and  be 
smothered!  The  world  will  g-et  on  very  well  without 
you." 

And  he  strode  forth  from  the  cottag-e. 


CHAPTER  LI. 


Scantlebray  was  mistaken.  Coppinger  had  not  crossed 
the  estuary  of  the  Camel.  He  was  at  Pentyre  Glaze 
awaiting  the  time  when  the  tide  suited  for  landing1  the 
cargo  of  the  Black  Prince.  In  the  kitchen  were  a  num- 
ber of  men  having-  their  supper  and  drinking-,  waiting 
also  for  the  proper  moment  when  to  issue  forth. 

At  the  turn  of  the  tide  the  Black  Prince  would  approach 
in  the  gathering  darkness  and  would  come  as  near  in  as 
she  dare  venture.  The  wind  had  fallen,  but  the  sea  was 
running,  and  with  the  tide  setting  in  she  would  approach 
the  cove. 

Judith  hastened  toward  the  Glaze.  Darkness  had  set 
in,  but  in  the  north  were  auroral  lights,  first  a  great, 
white  halo,  then  rays  that  shot  up  to  the  zenith,  and 
then  a  mackerel  sky  of  rosy  light.  The  growl  and  mut- 
ter of  the  sea  filled  the  air  with  threat  like  an  angry 
multitude  surging  on  with  blood  iind  destruction  in  their 
hearts. 

The  nicker  overhead  gave  Judith  light  for  her  cause; 
the  snow  had  melted  except  in  ditches  and  under  hedges, 
and  there  it  glared  red  or  white  in  response  to  the  chang- 
ing, luminous  tinges  of  the  heavens.  When  she  reached 
the  house  she  at  once  entered  the  hall  ;  there  Coppinger 
was  awaiting  her.  He  knew  she  would  come  to  him  when 
her  mind  was  made  up  on  the  alternatives  he  had  offered 
her,  and  he  believed  he  knew  pretty  surely  which  she 
would  choose.  It  was  because  he  expected  her  that  he 
had  not  suffered  the  men  collected  for  the  work  of  the 
night  to  invade  the  hall. 

"  You  are  here,"  he  said.  He  was  seated  by  the  fire  ;  he 
looked  up,  but  did  not  rise.  "  Almost  too  late." 

"  Almost,  maybe,  but  not  altogether,"  answered  Judith. 
"And  yet  it  seems  unnecessary,  as  you  have  already 
acted  without  awaiting  my  decision." 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  381 

"  What  makes  you  say  that  ?  " 

"I  have  been  shown  your  letter." 

"  Oh !     Obadiah  Scantlebray  is  premature." 

"  He  is  not  at  Othello  Cottage  yet.  His  brother  came 
beforehand  to  prepare  me." 

"  How  considerate  of  your  feelings,"  sneered  Captain 
Cruel.  "  I  would  not  have  expected  that  of  Scantle- 
bray." 

"  You  have  not  awaited  my  decision,"  said  Judith. 

"  That  is  true,"  answered  Coppinger,  carelessly.  "  I 
knew  you  would  shrink  from  the  exposure,  the  disgrace 
of  publication  of  what  has  occurred  here.  I  knew  you  so 
well  that  I  could  reckon  beforehand  on  what  you  would 
elect." 

"But,  why  to  Scantlebray?  Are  there  not  other 
asylums  ? " 

"  Yes :  so  long  as  that  boy  is  placed  where  he  can  do  no 
mischief,  I  care  not." 

"  Then,  if  that  be  so,  I  have  another  proposal  to 
make." 

"What  is  that  ?  "     Coppinger  stood  up. 

"If  you  have  any  regard  for  my  feelings,  any  care  for 
my  happiness,  you  will  grant  my  request." 

"Let  me  hear  it." 

"  Mr.  Menaida  is  going  to  Portugal." 

"  What !  " — in  a  tone  of  concentrated  rage — "  Oliver  ?  " 

"  Oliver  and  his  father.  But  the  proposal  concerns  the 
father." 

"Go  on."  Coppinger  strode  once  across  the  room, 
then  back  again.  "  Go  on,"  he  said,  savagely. 

"  Old  Mr.  Menaida  offers  to  take  Jamie  with  him.  He 
intends  to  settle  at  Oporto,  near  his  son,  who  has  been 
appointed  to  a  good  situation  there.  He  will  gladly  un- 
dertake the  charge  of  Jamie.  Let  Jamie  go  with  them. 
There  he  can  do  no  harm." 

"  What,  go — without  you  ?  Did  they  not  want  you  to 
go,  also  ? " 

Judith  hesitated  and  flushed.  There  was  a  single  tal- 
low candle  on  the  table.  Coppinger  took  it  up,  snuffed 
it,  and  held  the  flame  to  her  face  to  study  its  expres- 
sion. "  I  thought  so,"  he  said,  and  put  down  the  light 
again. 

"  Jamie  is  useful  to  Mr.  Menaida,"  pleaded  Judith,  in 
some  confusion,  and  with  a  voice  of  tremulous  apology. 


382  Z/Y  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

"  He  stuffs  birds  so  beautifully,  and  Uncle  Zachie — I 
mean  Mr.  Menaida — has  set  his  heart  on  making-  a  col- 
lection of  the  Spanish  and  Portuguese  birds." 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  he  understands  the  properties  of  arsenic," 
said  Coppinger,  with  a  scoff. 

Judith's  eyes  fell.  Captain  Gruel's  tone  was  not  re- 
assuring-. 

"  You  say  that  you  care  not  where  Jamie  be,  so  long  as 
he  is  where  he  cannot  hurt  you,"  said  Judith. 

"  I  did  not  say  that,"  answered  Coppinger.  "  I  said 
that  he  must  be  placed  where  he  can  injure  no  one." 

"  He  can  injure  no  one  if  he  is  with  Mr.  Menaida,  who 
will  well  watch  him,  and  keep  him  employed." 

Coppinger  laughed  bitterly.  "  And  you  ?  Will  you  be 
satisfied  to  have  the  idolized  brother  with  the  deep  seas 
rolling-  between  you  1 " 

"  I  must  endure  it.     It  is  tlte  least  of  evils." 

"  But  you  would  be  pining-  to  have  wings  and  fly  over 
the  sea  to  him." 

"  If  I  have  not  wings  I  cannot  go." 

"  Now  hearken,"  said  Coppinger.  He  clinched  his 
fist  and  laid  it  on  the  table.  "  I  know  very  well  what 
this  means.  Oliver  Menaida  is  at  the  bottom  of  this. 
It  is  not  the  fool  Jamie  who  is  wanted  in  Portugal,  but 
the  clever  Judith.  They  have  offered  to  take  the  boy, 
that  through  him  they  may  attract  you,  unless,"  his  voice 
thrilled,  "  they  have  already  dared  to  propose  that  you 
should  go  with  them." 

Judith  was  silent. 

Coppinger  clinched  his  second  hand  and  laid  that 
also  on  the  table.  "  I  swear  to  heaven,"  said  he,  "  that 
if  I  and  that  Oliver  Menaida  meet  again,  it  is  for  the 
last  time  for  one  or  other  of  us.  We  have  met  twice 
already.  It  is  an  understood  thing:  between  us,  when  we 
meet  again,  one  wets  his  boots  in  the  other's  blood.  Do 
you  hear  ?  The  world  will  not  hold  us  two  any  longer. 
Portugal  may  be  far  off,  but  it  is  too  near'  Cornwall  for 
me." 

Judith  made  no  answer.  She  looked  fixedly  into  the 
gloomy  eyes  of  Coppinger,  and  said — 

"You  have  strange  thoughts.  Suppose — if  you  will 
— that  the  invitation  included  me,  I  could  not  have  ac- 
cepted it." 

"  Why  not  ?   You  refuse  to  regard  yourself  as  married, 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  383 

and  if  unmarried,  you  are  free  —  and  if  free,  ready  to 
elope  with—  -"  he  would  not  utter  the  name  in  his  quiv- 
ering1 fury. 

"I  pray  you,"  said  Judith,  offended,  "do  not  insult 
me." 

"  I — insult  you  ?  It  is  a  daily  insult  to  me  to  be  treated 
as  I  have  been.  It  is  driving*  me  mad." 

"  But,  do  you  not  see,"  urged  Judith,  "  you  have  of- 
fered me  two  alternatives  and  I  ask  for  a  third,  yours 
are  jail  or  an  asylum,  mine  is  exile.  Both  yours  are  to 
me  intolerable.  Conceive  of  my  state  were  Jamie  either 
in  jail  or  with  Mr.  Scantlebray.  In  jail — and  I  should 
be  thinking-  of  him  all  day  and  all  night  in  his  prison 
garb,  tramping1  the  tread-mill,  beaten,  driven  on,  associ- 
ated with  the  vilest  of  men,  an  indelible  stain  put,  not 
on  him  only,  but  on  the  name  of  our  dear,  dear  father. 
Do  you  think  I  could  bear  that  1  or  take  the  other  alter- 
native ?  I  know  the  Scantlebray s.  I  should  have  the 
thoughts  of  Jamie  distressed,  frightened,  solitary,  ill- 
treated,  ever  before  me.  I  had  it  for  a  few  hours  once 
and  it  drove  me  frantic.  It  would  make  me  mad  in  a 
week.  I  know  that  I  could  not  endure  it.  Either  alter- 
native would  madden  or  kill  me.  And  I  offer  another 
—if  he  were  in  exile,  I  could  at  least  think  of  him  as 
happy  among-  the  orange  groves,  in  the  vineyards, 
among  kind  friends,  happy,  innocent — at  worst,  forget- 
ting me.  That  I  could  bear.  But  the  other — no,  not  for 
a  week — they  would  be  torture  insufferable."  She  spoke 
full  of  feverish  vehemence,  with  her  hands  outspread  be- 
fore her. 

"  And  this  smiling  vision  of  Jamie  happy  in  Portugal 
would  draw  your  heart  from  me." 

"  You  never  had  my  heart,"  said  Judith. 

Coppinger  clinched  his  teeth.  "  I  will  hear  no  more 
of  this,"  said  he. 

Then  Judith  threw  herself  on  her  knees,  and  caught 
him  and  held  him,  lifting  her  entreating  face  toward 
his. 

"  I  have  undergone  it — for  some  hours.  I  know  it  will 
madden  or  kill  me.  I  cannot — I  cannot — I  cannot,"  she 
could  scarce  breathe,  she  spoke  in  gasps. 

"  You  cannot  what  ?  "  he  asked,  sullenly. 

"  I  cannot  live  on  the  terms  you  offer.  You  take  from 
me  even  the  very  wish  to  live.  Take  away  the  arsenic 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

from  me — lest  in  madness  I  give  it  to  myself.  Take  me 
far  inland  from  these  cliffs— lest  in  my  Inadness  I  throw 
myself  over — I  could  not  bear  it.  Will  nothing-  move 
you  1  v 

"  Nothing."  He  stood  before  her,  his  feet  apart,  his 
arms  folded,  his  chin  on  his  breast,  looking  into  her  up- 
lifted, imploring  face.  :'  Yes — one  thing.  One  thing 
only."  He  paused,  raking  her  face  with  his  eyes.  "  Yes 
— one  thing.  Be  mine  wholly — unconditionally.  Then 
I  will  consent.  Be  mine ;  add  your  name  where  it  is 
wanting.  Eesume  your  ring— and  Jamie  shall  go  with 
the  Menaidas.  Now,  choose." 

He  drew  back.  Judith  remained  kneeling,  upright,  011 
the  floor  with  arms  extended  —  she  had  heard  and  at 
first  hardly  comprehended  him.  Then  she  staggered  to 
her  feet. 

"  Well,"  said  Coppinger,  "  what  answer  do  you  make  I 
Still  she  could  not  speak.  She  went  to  the  table  with 
uncertain  steps.  There  was  a  wooden  form  by  it.  She 
seated  herself  on  this,  placed  her  arms  on  the  board, 
joining-  her  hands,  and  laid  her  head,  face  downward,  be- 
tween them  on  the  table. 

Coppinger  remained  where  he  was,  watching  and  wait- 
ing. He  knew  what  her  action  implied — that  she  was  to 
be  left  alone  with  her  thoughts,  to  form  her  resolve  un- 
disturbed. He  remained,  accordingly,  motionless,  but 
with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  golden  hair  that  flickered  in 
the  dim  light  of  the  one  candle.  The  wick  had  a  great 
fungus  in  it — so  large  and  glaring  that  in  another  mo- 
ment it  must  fall,  and  fall  on  Judith's  hand.  Coppinger 
saw  this  and  he  thrust  forth  his  arm  to  snuff  the  candle 
with  his  fingers,  but  his  hand  shook,  and  the  light  was 
extinguished.  It  mattered  not.  There  were  glowing 
coals  on  the  hearth,  and  through  the  window  flared  and 
throbbed  the  auroral  lights. 

A  step  sounded  outside.  Then  a  hand  was  on  the 
door.  Coppinger  at  once  strode  across  the  hall,  and 
arrested  the  intruder  from  entering. 

"-Who  is  that  ?  " 

"Render  Pendarvis"— the  clerk  of  St.  Enodoc.  "I 
have  some'ut  partickler  I  must  say." 

Coppinger  looked  at  Judith ;  she  lay  motionless,  her 
head  between  her  arms  on  the  board.  He  partly  opened 
the  door  and  stepped  forth  into  the  porch. 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  385 

When  lie  had  heard  what  the  clerk  of  St.  Enodoc  Jiad 
to  say,  he  answered  with  an  order,  "  Round  to  the  kitchen 
— bid  the  men  arm,  and  go  by  the  beach." 

He  returned  into  the  hall,  went  to  the  fireplace  and 
took  down  a  pair  of  pistols,  tried  them  that  they  were 
charged,  and  thrust  them  into  his  belt. 

Next  he  went  up  to  Judith,  and  laid  his  hand  on  her 
shoulder. 

"Time  presses,"  he  said;  "1  have  to  be  off.  Your 
answer."  She  looked  up.  The  board  was  studded  with 
drops  of  water.  She  had  not  wept,  these  stains  were  not 
her  tears,  they  were  the  sweat  of  anguish  off  her  brow 
that  had  run  over  the  board. 

'  Well,  Judith,  your  answer." 

'  I  accept." 

'  Unreservedly  ?  " 

'  Unreservedly." 

'  Stay,"  said  he.  He  spoke  low,  indistinctly  articulated 
sentences.  "  Let  there  be  no  holding1  back  between  us. 
You  shall  know  all.  You  have  wondered  concerning-  the 
death  of  WyvilL — I  know  you  have  asked  questions  about 
it.  I  killed  him." 

He  paused. 

"  You  heard  of  the  wreckers  on  that  vessel  cast  on 
Doom  Bar.  I  was  their  leader." 

Again  he  paused. 

"  You  thought  I  had  sent  Jamie  out  with  a  light  to 
mislead  the  vessel.  You  thought  right.  I  did  have  her 
drawn  to  her  destruction,  and  by  your  brother." 

He  paused  again.  He  saw  Judith's  hand  twitch :  that 
was  the  only  sign  of  emotion  in  her. 

"  And  Lady  Kiiighton's  jewels.  I  took  them  off  her — it 
was  I  who  tore  her  ear." 

Again  a  stillness.  The  sky 'out side  shone  in  at  the 
window,  a  lurid  red.  From  the  kitchen  could  be  heard 
the  voice  of  a  man  singing. 

"  Now  you  know  all,"  said  Coppinger.  "  I  would  not 
have  you  take  me  finally,  fully,  unreservedly  without 
knowing  the  truth.  Give  me  your  resolve." 

She  slightly  lifted  her  hands;  she  looked  steadily 
into  his  face  with  a  stony  expression  in  hers. 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  help  myself — unreservedly  yours." 

Then  he  caught  her  to  him,  pressed  her  to.  his  heart 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

and  kissed  her  wet  face — wet  as  though  she  had  plunged 
it  into  the  sea. 

"  To-morrow,"  said  he,  "  to-morrow  shall  be  our  true 
wedding." 

And  he  dashed  out  of  the  house. 


CHAPTEK 

TO  JUDITH. 

In  the  smugglers'  cave  were  Oliver  Menaida  and  the 
party  of  Preventive  men,  not  under  his  charge,  but  under 
that  of  Wyvill.  This  man,  though  zealous  in  the  exe- 
cution of  his  duty,  and  not  averse,  should  the  opportunity 
offer,  of  paying  off  a  debt  in  full  with  a  bullet,  instead  of 
committing  his  adversary  to  the  more  lenient  hands  of 
the  law,  shared  in  that  failing,  if  it  were  a  failing,  of 
being  unable  to  do  anything  without  being  primed  with 
spirits,  a  failing  that  was  common  at  that  period,  to 
coastguards  and  smugglers  alike.  The  latter  had  to  be 
primed  in  order  to  run  a  cargo,  and  the  former  must  be 
in  like  condition  to  catch  them  at  it.  It  was  thought, 
not  unjustly,  that  the  magistrates  before  whom,  if  caught, 
the  smugglers  were  brought,  needed  priming  in  order  to 
ripen  their  intellects  for  pronouncing  judgment.  But 
it  was  not  often  that  a  capture  was  effected.  When  it 
was,  priming  was  allowed  for  the  due  solemnization  of 
the  fact  by  the  captors ;  failure  always  entitled  them  to 
priming  in  order  to  sustain  their  disappointment  with 
fortitude.  Wyvill  had  lost  a  brother  in  the  cause,  and 
his  feelings  often  overcame  him  when  he  considered  his 
loss,  and  their  poignancy  had  to  be  slaked  with  the 
usual  priming.  It  served,  as  its  advocates  alleged,  as  a 
great  stimulant  to  courage;  but  it  served  also,  as  its 
deprecators  asserted,  as  a  solvent  to  discipline. 

Now  that  th£  party  were  in  possession  of  the  den  of 
their  adversaries,  such  a  success  needed,  in  their  eyes, 
commemoration.  They  were  likely,  speedily,  to  have  a 
tussle  with  the  smugglers,  and  to  prepare  themselves 
for  that  required  the  priming  of  their  nerves  and  sinews. 
They  had  had  a  sharp  struggle  with  the  sea  in  rounding 
Pentyre  Point,  and  their  unstrung  muscles  and  joints 
demanded  screwing  up  again  by  the  same  means. 

The  Black  Prince  had  been  discerned  through  the  fall- 


388  72V   THE   ROAR   OF   THE  SEA. 

ing  darkness  drawing-  shoreward  with  the  rising  tide ; 
but  it  was  certain  that  for  another  hour  or  two  the  men 
would  have  to  wait  before  she  dropped  anchor,  and  those 
ashore  came  down  t'o  the  unloading-. 

A  lantern  was  lig-hted,  and  the  cave  was  explored. 
Certainly  Coppinger's  men  from  the  land  would  arrive 
before  the  boats  from  the  Black  Prince,  and  it  was  de- 
termined to  at  once  arrest  them,  and  then  await  the  con- 
tingent in  the  boats,  and  fall  on  them  as  they  landed. 
The  party  was  small,  it  consisted  of  but  seven  men,  and 
it  was  advisable  to  deal  with  the  smugglers  piecemeal. 

The  men,  having-  leisure,  brought  out  their  food,  and 
tapped  the  keg  they  had  procured  at  the  Rock.  It  was 
satisfactory  to  them  that  the  Black  Prince  was  appar- 
ently bent  on  discharging-  the  cargo  that  night  and  in 
that  place,  thus  they  would  not  have  to  wait  in  the  cave 
twenty-four  hours,  and  not,  after  all,  be  disappointed. 

"  All  your  pistols  charged  ?"  asked  Wyvill. 

"  Aye,  aye,  sir." 

"  Then  take  your  suppers  while  you  may.  We  shall 
have  hot  work  presently.  Should  a  step  be  heard  below, 
throw  a  bit  o'  sailcloth  over  the  lantern,  Samson." 

Oliver  was  neither  hungry  nor  thirsty.  He  had  both 
eaten  and  drunk  sufficient  when  at  the  station.  He  there- 
fore left  the  men  to  make  their  collation,  prime  their 
spirits,  pluck  up  their  courage,  screw  up  their  nerves, 
polish  their  wits,  all  with  the  same  instrument,  and  de- 
scended the  slope  of  shingle,  stooped  under  the  brow  of 
rock  that  divided  the  lower  from  the  upper  cave,  and 
made  his  way  to  the  entrance,  and  thence  out  over  the 
sands  of  the  cove.  He  knew  that  the  shore  could  be 
reached  only  by  the  donkey -path,  or  by  the  dangerous 
track  down  the  chimney — a  track  he  had  not  discovered 
till  he  had  made  a  third  exploration  of  the  cave.  Down 
this  tortuous  and  perilous  descent  he  was  convinced  the 
smug-g-lers  would  not  come.  It  was,  he  saw,  but  rarely 
used,  and  designed  as  a  way  of  escape  orlly  on  an  emer- 
gency. A  too-frequent  employment  of  this  path  would 
have  led  to  a  treading  of  the  turf  on  the  cliff  above,  and 
to  a  marking  of  the  line  of  descent,  that  would  have 
attracted  the  attention  of  the  curious,  and  revealed  to 
the  explorer  the  place  of  retreat. 

Oliver,  therefore,  went  forward  toward  the  point 
where  the  donkey -path  reached  the  sands,  deeming  it 


AT   THE   no  AH   OF   THE  SEA.  .        380 

advisable  that  a  watch  should  be  kept  on  this  point,  so 
that  his  party  might  be  forewarned  in  time  of  the  ap- 
proach of  the  smugglers. 

There  was  much  light  in  the  sky,  a  fantastic,  myster- 
ious glow,  as  though  some  great  conflagration  were 
taking  place  and  the  clouds  over  head  reflected  its  flicker. 

There  passed  throbs  of  shadow  from  side  to  side,  and 
as  Oliver  looked  he  could  almost  believe  that  the  light 
he  saw  proceeded  from  a  great  bonfire,  such  as  was 
kindled  on  the  Cornish  Moors  on  Midsummer's  Eve,  and 
that  the  shadows  were  produced  by  men  and  women 
dancing  round  the  flames  and  momentarily  intercepting 
the  light. 

Then  ensued  a  change.  The  rose  hue  vanished  sud- 
denly, and  in  its  place  shot  up  three  broad  ribbons  of 
silver  light ;  and  so  bright  and  clear  was  the  light  that 
the  edge  of  the  cliff  against  it  was  cut  as  sharp  as  a  black 
silhouette  on  white  paper,  and  he  could  see  every  bush 
of  gorse  there,  and  a  sheep — a  solitary  sheep. 

Suddenly  he  was  startled  by  seeing  a  man  before  him, 
coming  over  the  sand. 

"  Who  goes  there  ? " 

"  What — Oliver  !  I  have  found  you  !  "  the  answer  was 
in  his  father's  voice.  "  Oh,  well,  I  got  fidgeted,  and  I 
thought  I  would  come  and  see  if  you  had  arrived." 

"For  heaven's  sake,  you  have  told  no  one  of  our 
plans  ?  " 

"I — 'bless  you,  boy — not  I.  You  know  you  told  me 
yourself,  before  going  to  the  station,  what  you  intended, 
and  I  was  troubled  and  anxious,  and  I  came  to  see  how 
things  were  turning  out.  The  Black  Prince  is  coming 
in ;  she  will  anchor  shortly.  She  can't  come  beyond  the 
point  yonder.  I  was  sure  you  would  be  here.  How  many 
have  you  brought  with  you  ?  " 

"  But  six." 

:c  Too  few.  However,  now  I  am  with  you,  that  makes 
eight." 

"  I  wish  you  had  not  come,  father." 

"My  boy,  I  did  not  come  only  on  your  account.  I 
have  my  poor  little  Ju  so  near  my  heart  that  I  long  to 
put  out  if  only  a  finger  to  liberate  her  from  that  ruffian, 
whom  by  the  way  I  have  challenged." 

:c  Yes — but  I  have  stepped  in  as  your  substitute.  I 
shall,  I  trust,  try  conclusions  with  Coppinger  to-night. 


390  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

Come  witli  me  to  the  cave  I  told  you  of.    We  will  send  a 
man  to  keep  guard  at  the  foot  of  the  donkey  path." 

Oliver  led  the  way  ;  the  sands  reflected  the  illumina- 
tion of  the  sky,  and  the  foam  that  swept  up  the  beach 
had  a  rosy  tinge.  The  waves  hissed  as  they  rushed  up 
the  shore,  as  though  impatient  at  men  speaking-  and  not 
listening  to  the  voice  of  the  ocean,  that  should  subdue 
all  human  tongues,  and  command  mute  attention.  And 
yet  that  roar  is  inarticulate,  it  is  like  the  foaming  fury 
of  the  dumb,  that  strives  with  noise  and  gesticulation  to 
explain  the  thoughts  that  are  working  within. 

In  the  cave  it  was  dark,  and  Oliver  lighted  a  piece  of 
touchwood  as  a  means  of  observing  the  shelving  ground, 
and  taking  his  direction,  till  he  passed  under  the  brow 
of  rock  and  entered  the  upper  cavern. 

After  a  short  scramble,  the  dim  yellow  glow  of  light 
from  this  inner  recess  was  visible,  when  Oliver  extin- 
guished his  touchwood  and  pushed  on,  guided  by  this 
light. 

On  entering  the  upper  cave  he  was  surprised  to  find 
the  guards  lying  about  asleep,  and  snoring.  He  went  at 
once  to  Wyvill,  seized  him  by  the  arm  and  shook  him, 
but  none  of  his  efforts  could  rouse  him.  He  lay  as  a  log, 
or  as  one  stunned. 

"Father!  help  me  with  the  others,"  said  Oliver  in 
great  concern. 

Mr.  Menaida  went  from  one  to  the  other,  spoke  to 
each,  shook  him,  held  the  lantern  to  his  eyes  ;  he  raised 
their  heads ;  when  he  let  go  his  hold,  they  fell  back. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ? "  asked  Oliver. 

"  Humph  !  "  said  old  Menaida,  "  I'll  tell  you  what  this 
means.  There  is  a  rogue  among  them,  and  their  drink 
has  been  drugged  with  deadly  night -shade.  You  might 
be  sure  of  this — that  among  six  coast-guards,  one  would 
be  in  the  pay  of  Coppinger.  Which  is  it  ?  Whoever  it 
is,  he  is  pretending  to  be  as  dead  drunk  and  stupefied  as 
the  others,  and  which  is  the  man,  Noll  ?  " 

"I  cannot  tell.  This  keg  of  brandy  was  got  at  the 
Eock  Inn." 

"  It  was  got  there  and  there  drugged,  but  by  one  of 
this  company.  Who  is  it  ?  " 

:' Yes,"  said  Oliver,  waxing  wrathful,  "and  what  is 
more,  notice  was  sent  to  Coppinger  to  be  on  his  guard. 
I  saw  the  sexton  going  in  the  direction  of  Pentyre." 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  391 

"  That  man  is  a  rascal." 

"And  now  we  shall  not  encounter  Coppinger.  He 
will  be  warned  and  not  come." 

"  Trust  him  to  come.  He  has  heard  of  this.  He  will 
come  and  murder  them  all  as  he  did  Wyvill." 

Oliver  felt  as  though  a  frost  had  fallen  on  him. 

"  Hah  ! "  said  old  Menaida.  "  Never  trust  anyone  in 
this  neighborhood;  you  cannot  tell  who  is  not  in  the  pay 
or  under  the  control  of  Coppinger,  from  the  magistrate 
on  the  bench  to  the  huckster  who  goes  round  the  coun- 
try. Among  these  six  men,  one  is  a  spy  and  a  traitor. 
Which  it  is  we  cannot  tell.  There  is  nothing  else  to  be 
done  but  to  bind  them  all,  hand  and  foot.  There  is 
plenty  of  cord  here." 

"  Plenty.     But  surely  not  Wyvill." 

"  Wyvill  and  all.  How  can  you  say  that  he  is  not  the 
man  who  has  done  it  ?  Many  a  fellow  has  carried  his 
brother  in  his  pocket.  What  if  he  has  been  bought  ?  " 

Old  Menaida  was  right.  He  had  not  lived  so  many 
years  in  the  midst  of  smugglers  without  having  learned 
something  of  their  ways.  His  advice  must  be  taken,  for 
the  danger  was  imminent.  If,  as  he  supposed,  full  in- 
formation had  been  sent  to  Captain  Cruel,  then  he  and 
his  men  would  be  upon  them  shortly. 

Oliver  hastily  brought  together  all  the  cord  of  a  suit- 
able thickness  he  could  find,  and  the  old  father  raised  and 
held  each  Preventive  man,  while  Oliver  firmly  bound 
him  hand  and  foot.  As  he  did  not  know  which  was  sham- 
ming sleep,  he  must  bind  all.  Of  the  six,  five  were 
wholly  unconscious  what  was  being  done  to  them,  and 
the  sixth  thought  it  advisable  to  pretend  to  be  as  the 
rest,  for  he  was  quite  aware  that  neither  Oliver  nor  his 
father  would  scruple  to  silence  him  effectually  did  he 
show  signs  of  animation. 

When  all  were  made  fast,  old  Mr.  Menaida  said : 

"  Now,  Noll,  my  boy,  are  you  armed  ? " 

"  No,  father.  When  I  went  from  home  I  expected  to 
return.  I  did  not  know  I  should  want  weapons.  But 
these  fellows  have  their  pistols  and  cutlasses." 

"  Try  the  pistols.  There,  take  that  of  the  man  Wyvill. 
Are  you  sure  they  are  loaded  ?  " 

"  I  know  they  are." 

"Well,  try."  * 

Oliver  took  Wyvill's  pistol,  and  put  in  the  ramrod 


392  IF  THE  ROAR   OF   THE  8EA. 

"  Oh  yes,  it  is  loaded." 

"  Make  sure.  Draw  the  loading-.  You  don't  know  what 
it  is  to  have  to  do  with  Coppinger." 

Oliver  drew  the  charge,  and  then,  as  is  usual,  when 
the  powder  has  been  removed,  blew  down  the  barrel. 
Then  he  observed  that  there  was  a  choke  somewhere. 
He  took  the  pistol  to  the  lantern,  opened  the  side  of  the 
lantern  and  examined  it.  The  touch-hole  was  plugged 
with  wax. 

"  Humph  !  "  said  Mr.  Menaida.  "  The  man  who  drugged 
the  liquor  waxed  the  touch-holes  of  the  pistols.  Try 
the  rest." 

Oliver  did  not  now  trouble  himself  to  draw  the  charges ; 
he  cocked  each  man's  pistol  and  drew  the  trigger.  Not 
one  would  discharg-e.  All  had  been  treated  in  like  man- 
ner. 

Oliver  thought  for  a  moment  what  was  to  be  done. 
He  dared  not  leave  the  sleeping  men  unprotected,  and  he 
and  his  father  alone  were  insufficient  to  defend  them. 

"Father,"  said  he,  "there  is  but  one  thing  that  can 
be  done  now:  you  must  go  at  once,  fly  to  the  nearest 
farmhouses  and  collect  men,  and,  if  possible,  hold  the 
donkey  path  before  Coppinger  and  his  men  arrive.  If 
you  are  too  late,  pursue  them.  I  will  choke  the  narrow 
entrance,  and  will  light  a  fire.  Perhaps  they  may  be 
afraid  when  they  see  a  blaze  here,  and  may  hold  off. 
Anyhow,  I  can  defend  this  place  for  a  while.  But  I 
don't  expect  that  they  will  attack  it." 

Mr.  Menaida  at  once  saw  that  his  son's  judgment  was 
right,  and  he  hurried  out  of  the  cave,  Oliver  holding  the 
light  to  assist  him  to  descend,  and  then  he  made  his  way 
over  the  sands  to  the  path,  and  up  that  to  the  downs. 

No  sooner  was  he  g-one  than  Oliver  collected  what 
wood  and  straw  were  there,  sailcloth,  oilcloth,  everything- 
that  was  combustible,  and  piled  them  up  into  a  heap, 
then  applied  the  candle  to  them,  and  produced  a  flame. 
The  wood  was  damp  and  did  not  burn  freely,  but  he  was 
able  to  awake  a  g-ood  fire  that  filled  the  cavern  with  light. 
He  trusted  that  when  the  smugglers  saw  that  their  den 
was  in  the  possession  of  the  enemy  they  would  not  risk 
the  attempt  to  enter  and  recover  it.  They  might  not, 
they  probably  did  not,  know  to  what  condition  the 
holders  of  the  cave  were  reduced. 

The  light  of  the  fire  roused  countless  bats  that  had 


IN  THE  HOAR   OF  THE  SEA.  393 

made  the  roof  of  the  cave  their  resting-place,  and 
they  flew  wildly  to  and  fro  with  whirr  of  wings  and 
shrill  screams. 

Oliver  set  to  work  with  all  haste  to  heap  stones  so  as 
to  choke  the  entrance  from  the  lower  cave,  by  which  he 
anticipated  that  the  smugglers  would  enter,  should  they 
resolve  on  so  desperate  a  course.  But  owing  to  the 
rapid  inclination,  the  pebbles  yielded,  and  what  he  piled 
up  rolled  down.  He  then,  with  great  effort,  got  the 
boat  thrust  down  to  the  opening,  and  by  main  force 
drew  it  partly  across.  It  was  not  possible  for  him  com- 
pletely to  block  the  entrance,  but  by  planting  the  boat 
athwart  it,  he  could  prevent  several  men  from  entering  at 
once,  and  whoever  did  enter  must  scramble  over  the  bul- 
warks of  the  boat. 

All  this  took  some  time,  and  he  was  thus  engaged, 
when  his  attention  was  suddenly  arrested  by  the  click  of 
a  pistol  brought  to  the  cock.  He  looked  hastily  about 
him,  and  saw  Coppinger,  who,  unobserved,  had  de- 
scended by  the  chimney,  and  now  by  the  light  of  the 
fire  was  taking  deliberate  aim  at  him.  Oliver  drew  back 
behind  a  rock. 

"  You  coward !  "  shouted  Captain  Cruel.  "  Come  out 
and  be  shot." 

"  I  am  no  coward,"  answered  Oliver.  "  Let  us  meet 
with  equal  arms.  I  have  a  cutlass."  He  had  taken 
one  from  the  side  of  a  sleep -drunk  coastguard. 

"  I  prefer  to  shoot  you  down  as  a  dog,"  said  Coppinger. 

Then  holding  his  pistol  levelled  in  the  direction  of 
Oliver,  he  approached  the  sleeping  men.  Oliver  saw 
at  once  his  object:  he  would  liberate  the  confederate. 
He  stepped  out  from  behind  the  rock,  and  immediately 
the  pistol  was  discharged.  A  bat  fell  at  the  feet  of  Oli- 
ver. Had  not  that  bat  at  the  moment  whizzed  past  his 
head  and  received  the  ball  in  its  soft  and  yielding  body, 
the  young  man  would  have  fallen  shot  through  his  head. 

Coppinger  uttered  a  curse,  and  put  his  hand  to  his 
belt  and  drew  forth  his  second  pistol.  But  Oliver  sprang 
forward,  and  with  a  sweep  of  his  cutlass  caught  him 
on  the  wrist  with  the  blade  as  he  was  about  to  touch 
the  trigger.  The  pistol  fell  from  his  hand,  and  a  rush 
of  blood  overflowed  the  back  of  the  hand. 

Coppinger  remained  for  one  minute  motionless.  So 
did  Oliver,  who  did  not  again  raise  his  cutlass. 


394  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

But  at  that  moment  a  harsh  voice  was  heard  crying-, 
"  There  he  is,  my  men,  at  him ;  beat  his  brains  out.  A 
guinea  for  the  first  man  who  knocks  him  over,"  and  from 
the  further  side  of  the  boat,  illumined  by  the  glare  from 
the  fire,  were  seen  the  faces  of  Mr.  Scantlebray,  his 
brother,  and  several  men,  who  began  to  scramble  over 
the  obstruction. 

Then,  and  then  only  in  his  life,  did  Coppinger's  heart 
fail  him.  His  right  hand  was  powerlesss;  the  sharp 
blade  had  severed  the  tendons,  and  blood  was  flowing 
from  his  wrist  in  streams.  One  pistol  was  discharged, 
the  other  had  fallen.  In  a  minute  he  would  be  in  the 
hands  of  his  deadly  enemies. 

He  turned  and  fled.  The  light  from  the  fire,  the  illu- 
mined smoke,  rose  through  the  chimney,  and  by  that  he 
could  run  up  the  familiar  track,  reach  the  platform  in 
the  face  of  the  cliff,  thence  make  his  way  by  the  path 
up  which  he  had  formerly  borne  Judith.  He  did  not 
hesitate,  he  fled,  and  Oliver,  also  without  hesitation,  pur- 
sued him.  As  he  went  up  the  narrow  track,  his  feet  trod 
in  and  were  stained  with  the  blood  that  had  fallen  from 
Coppinger's  wounded  arm,  but  he  did  not  notice  it — he 
was  unaware  of  it  till  the  morrow. 

Coppinger  reached  the  summit  of  the  cliffs.  His  feet 
were  on  the  down.  He  ran  at  once  in  the  direction  of 
Othello  Cottage.  His  only  chance  of  safety  lay  there. 
There  he  could  hide  in  the  attic,  and  Judith  would  never 
betray  him.  In  his  desperate  condition,  wounded,  his 
blood  flowing  from  him  in  streams,  hunted  by  his  foes, 
that  one  thought  was  in  him — Judith — he  must  go  to 
Judith.  She  would  never  betray  him,  she  would  be 
hacked  to  death  rather  than  give  him  up.  To  Judith  as 
his  last  refuge ! 


CHAPTER  LIII. 

IN  THE   SMOKE. 

Judith  left  Pentyre  Glaze  when  she  had  somewhat 
recovered  herself  after  the  interview  with  Coppinger 
and  her  surrender.  She  had  fought  a  brave  battle,  but 
had  been  defeated  and  must  lay  down  her  arms.  Resist- 
ance was  no  longer  possible  if  Jamie  was  to  be  saved 
from  a  miserable  fate.  Now  by  the  sacrifice  of  herself  she 
had  assured  to.  him  a  future  of  calm  and  innocent  hap- 
piness. She  knew  that  with  Uncle  Zachie  and  Oliver  he 
would  be  cared  for,  kindly  treated,  and  employed.  Unclo 
Zachie  himself  was  not  to  be  trusted ;  whatever  he  might 
promise,  his  good  nature  was  greater  than  his  judg- 
ment. But  she  had  confidence  in  Oliver,  who  would 
prove  a  check  on  the  over-indulgence  which  his  father 
would  allow.  But  Jamie  would  forget  her.  His  light 
and  unretentive  mind  was  not  one  to  harbor  deep  feel- 
ing. He  would  forget  her  when  on  board  ship  in  his 
pleasure  at  running  about  the  vessel  chattering  with  the 
sailors,  and  would  only  think  of  her  if  he  wanted  aught 
or  was  ill.  Rapidly  the  recollection  of  her,  love  for  her, 
would  die  out  of  his  mind  and  heart ;  and  as  it  died  out 
of  his,  her  thought  and  love  for  him  would  deepen  and 
become  more  fixed,  for  she  would  have  no  one,  nothing 
in  the  world  to  think  of  and  love  save  her  twin-brother. 

She  walked  on  in  the  dark  winter  night,  lighted  only 
by  the  auroral  glow  overhead,  and  was  conscious  of  a 
smell  of  tobacco-smoke  that  so  persistently  seemed  to 
follow  her  that  she  was  forced  to  notice  it.  She  became 
uneasy,  thinking  that  someone  was  walking  behind  the 
hedge  with  a  pipe,  watching  her,  perhaps  waiting  to 
spring  out  upon  her  when  distant  from  the  house,  where 
her  cries  for  help  might  not  be  heard. 

She  stood  still.  The  smell  was  strong.  She  climbed 
the  hedge  on  one  side  and  looked  over;  as  far  as  she 
could  discern  in  the  red  glimmer  from  the  flushed  sky 


396  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

there  was  no  one  there.  She  listened,  she  could  hear  no 
step.  She  walked  hastily  on  to  a  gate  in  the  hedge  on 
the  opposite  side  and  went  through  that.  The  smell  of 
burning1  tobacco  was  as  strong  there.  Judith  turned  in 
the  lane  and  walked  back  in  the  direction  of  the  house. 
The  smell  pursued  her.  It  was  strange.  Could  she 
carry  the  odor  in  her  clothes  ?  She  turned  again  and  re- 
sumed her  walk  toward  Othello  Cottage.  Now  she  was 
distinctly  aware  that  the  scent  came  to  her  on  the  wind. 
Her  perplexity  on  this  subject  served  as  a  diversion  of 
her  mind  from  her  own  troubles. 

She  emerged  upon  the  downs,  and  made  her  way 
across  them  toward  the  cottage  that  lay  in  a  dip,  not 
to  be  observed  except  by  one  close  to  it.  The  wind 
when  it  brushed  up  from  the  sea  was  odorless. 

Presently  she  came  in  sight  of  Othello  Cottage,  and 
in  spite  of  the  darkness  could  see  that  a  .strange,  dense, 
white  fog  surrounded  it,  especially  the  roof,  which 
seemed  to  be  wearing  a  white  wig.  In  a  moment 
she  understood  what  this  signified.  Othello  Cottage 
was  on  fire,  and  the  stores  of  tobacco  in  the  attic  were 
burning.  Judith  ran.  Her  own  troubles  were  forgot- 
ten in  her  alarm  for  Jamie.  No  fire  as  yet  had  broken 
through  the  roof. 

She  reached  the  door,  which  was  open.  Mr.  Scantle- 
bray  in  leaving  had  not  shut  the  door,  so  as  to  allow  the 
boy  to  crawl  out  should  he  recover  sufficient  intelligence 
to  see  that  he  was  in  danger. 

It  is  probable  that  Scantlebray,  senior,  would  have 
made  further  efforts  to  save  Jamie,  but  that  he  believed 
he  would  meet  with  his  brother,  and  two  or  three  men 
he  was  bringing  with  him,  near  the  house,  and  then  it 
would  be  easy  unitedly  to  drag  the  boy  forth.  He  did, 
indeed,  meet  with  Obadiah,  but  also  at  the  same  time 
with  Uncle  Zachie  Menaida  and  a  small  party  of  farm- 
laborers,  and  when  he  heard  that  Mr.  Menaida  desired 
help  to  secure  Coppinger  and  the  smugglers,  he  thought 
no  more  of  the  boy  and  joined  heartily  in  the  attempt  to 
rescue  the  Preventive  men  and  take  Coppinger. 

Through  the  open  door  dashed  Judith,  crying  out  to 
Jamie  whom  she  could  not  see.  There  was  a  dense, 
white  cloud  in  the  room,  let  down  from  above,  and  curl- 
ing out  at  the  top  of  the  door,  whence  it  issued  as  steam 
from  a  boiler.  It  was  impossible  to  breathe  in  this  fog 


ZA7    THK   110  AH   OF   T1IK  HE  A.  397 

of  tobacco-smoke,  and  Judith  knew  that  if  she  allowed  it 

to  surround  her  she  would  be  stupefied.     She  therefore 

stooped  and  entered,  calling-  Jamie.     Although  the  thick 

mattress  of  white  smoke  had  not  as  yet  descended  to  the 

floor,  and  had  left  comparatively  clear  air  beneath  it — the 

in-draught  from  the  door — yet  the  odor  of  the  burning- 

-.tobacco  impregnated  the  atmosphere.     Here  and  there 

curls  of  smoke  descended,  dropped  capriciously  from  the 

,,bed  of  vapor  above,  and  wantonly  played  about. 

Judith  saw  her  brother  lying  at  full  length  near  the 
fire.  Scaiitlebray  had  drawn  him  partly  to  the  door,  but 
he  had  rolled  back  to  his  former  position  near  the  hearth, 
perhaps  from  feeling  the  cold  wind  that  blew  in  on  him. 

There  "was  no  time  to  be  lost.  Judith  knew  that  flame 
must  burst  forth  directly— directly  the  burning-  tobacco 
had  charred  through  the  rafters  and  flooring  of  the 
attic  and  allowed  the  fresh  air  from  below  to  rush  in 
and,  acting-  as  a  bellows,  blow  the  whole  mass  of  glow- 
ing- tobacco  into  flame.  It  was  obvious  that  the  fire  had 
originated  above  in  the  attic.  There  was  nothing-  burn- 
ing- in  the  room,  and  the  smoke  drove  downward  in 
strips  through  the  joints  of  the  boards  overhead. 

"  Jamie,  come,  come  with  me  ! "  She  shook  the  boy, 
she  knelt  by  him  and  raised  him  on  her  knee.  He  was 
stupefied  with  cognac,  and  with  the  fumes  of  the  burn- 
ing tobacco  he  had  inhaled. 

She  must  drag  him  forth.  He  was  no  longer  half- 
conscious  as  he  had  been  when  Mr.  Scantlebray  made 
the  same  attempt ;  the  power  to  resist  was  now  gone 
from  him. 

Judith  was  delicately  made,  and  was  not  strong,  but 
she  put  her  arms  under  the  shoulders  of  Jamie  and  her- 
self on  her  kness  and  dragged  him  along-  the  floor.  He 
was  as  heavy  as  a  corpse.  She  drew  him  a  little  way  and 
desisted,  overcome,  panting,  giddy,  faint.  But  time 
must  not  be  lost.  Every  moment  was  precious.  Judith 
knew  that  overhead  in  the  loft  was  something  that 
would  not  smoulder  and  glow,  but  burst  into  furious 
flame — spirits.  Not,  indeed,  many  kegs,  but  there  were 
some.  When  this  became  ignited  their  escape  would 
be  impossible.  She  drew  Jamie  further  up ;  she  was 
behind  him.  She  thrust  him  forward  as  she  moved  on 
upon  her  knees,  driving  him  a  step  further  at  every  ad- 
vance. It  was  slow  and  laborious  work.  She  could  not 


398  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

maintain  this  effort  for  long  and  fell  forward  on  her 
hands,  and  he  fell  also  at  the  same  time  on  the  floor. 

Then  she  heard  a  sound,  a  roar,  an  angry  growl.  The 
shock  of  the  fall,  and  striking-  his  head  against  the  slate 
pavement,  roused  Jamie  momentarily  and  he  also  heard 
the  noise. 

"  Ju !  the  roar  of  the  sea !  " 

"  A  sea  of  fire,  Jamie !     Oh,  do  push  to  the  door." 

He  raised  himself  on  his  hands,  looked  vacantly  round, 
and  fell  again  into  stupid  unconsciousness.  Now  still 
on  her  knees,  but  with  a  brain  becoming-  bewildered  with 
the  fumes,  she  crept  to  his  head,  placed  herself  between 
him  and  the  door,  and  holding-  his  shoulders,  dragged 
him  toward  her,  she  moving  backward. 

Even  thus  she  could  make  but  little  way  with  him ; 
his  boot-tops  caught  in  the  edge  of  a  slate  slab  ill  fitted 
in  the  floor  and  held  him,  so  that  she  could  not  pull  him 
to  her  with  the  additional  resistance  thus  caused.  Then 
an  idea  struck  her.  Staggering  to  her  feet,  holding  her 
breath,  she  plunged  in  the  direction  of  the  window,  beat 
it  open,  and  panted  in  the  inrush  of  pure  air.  With 
this  new  current  wafted  in  behind  her  she  returned  amid 
the  smoke,  and  for  a  moment  it  dissipated  the  density  of 
the  cloud  about  her.  The  window  had  faced  the  wind, 
and  the  rush  of  air  through  it  was  more  strong  than  that 
which  entered  by  the  door.  And  yet  this  expedient  did 
not  answer  as  she  had  expected,  for  the  column  of  strong, 
cold  air  pouring  in  from  a  higher  level  threw  the  cloud 
into  confusion,  stirred  it  up  as  it  were,  and  lessened  the 
space  of  uninvaded  atmosphere  below  the  descending 
bed  of  vapor. 

Again  she  went  to  Jamie.  The  roar  overhead  had  in- 
creased, some  vent  had  been  found,  and  the  attic  was  in 
full  flagrance.  Now,  drawing  a  long  breath  at  the  door, 
near  the  level  of  the  ground,  she  returned  to  her  brother 
and  disengaged  his  foot  from  the  slate,  then  dragged, 
then  thrust,  sometimes  at  his  head,  sometimes  at  his 
side;  then  again  she  had  her  arms  round  him,  and 
swung  herself  forward  to  the  right  knee  sideways ;  then 
brought  up  the  other  knee,  and  swung  herself  with  the 
dead  weight  in  her  arms  again  to  the  right,  and  thus 
was  able  to  work  her  way  nearer  to  the  door,  and,  as  she 
got  nearer  to  the  door,  the  air  was  clearer,  and  she  was 
able  to  breathe  freer. 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.  399 

At  length  she  laid  hold  of  the  jamb  with  one  hand, 
and  with  the  other  she  caught  the  lappel  of  the  boy's 
coat,  and  assisted  by  the  support  she  had  gained,  was 
able  to  drag  him  over  the  door-step. 

At  that  moment  passed  her  rushed  a  man.  She 
looked,  saw  and  knew  Coppinger.  As  he  rushed  passed, 
the  blood  squirting  from  his  maimed  right  hand  fell  on 
the  girl  lying  prostrate  at  the  'jamb  to  which  she  had 
clung. 

And  now  within  a  red  light  appeared,  glowing  through 
the  mist  as  a  fiery  eye  ;  not  only  so,  but  every  now  and 
then  a  fiery  rain  descended.  The  burning  tobacco  had 
consumed  the  boards  and  was  falling  through  in  red 
masses. 

Judith  had  but  just  brought  her  brother  into  safety, 
or  comparative  safety,  and  now  another,  Coppinger,  had 
plunged  into  the  burning  cottage,  rushed  to  almost  cer- 
tain death.  She  cried  to  him  as  well  as  she  could  with 
her  short  breath.  She  could  not  leave  him  within.  Why 
had  he  run  there  1  She  saw  on  her  dress  the  blood  that 
had  fallen  from  him.  She  went  outside  the  hut  and 
dragged  Jamie  forth  and  laid  him  on  the  grass.  Then, 
without  hesitation,  inhaling  all  the  pure  air  she  could,  she 
darted  once  more  into  the  burning  cottage.  Her  eyes 
were  stung  with  the  smoke,  but  she  pushed  on,  and  found 
Coppinger  under  the  open  window,  fallen  on  the  floor, 
his  back  and  head  against  the  wall,  his  arms  at  his  side, 
and  the  blood  streaming  over  the  slate  pavement  from 
his  right  gashed  wrist.  Accident  or  instinct  —  it  could 
not  have  been  judgment — had  carried  him  to  the  only 
spot  in  the  room  where  pure  air  was  to  be  found,  and 
there  it  descended  like  a  rushing  waterfall,  blowing 
about  the  prostrate  man's  wild  long  hair. 

"  Judith  !  "  said  he,  looking  at  her,  and  he  raised  his 
left  hand.  "Judith,  this  is  the  end." 

"  Oh,  Captain  Coppinger,  do  come  out.  The  house  is 
burning.  Quick,  or  it  will  be  too  late." 

"It  is  too  late  for  me,"  he  said.  "I  am  wounded." 
He  held  up  his  half-severed  hand.  "I  gave  this  to  you 
and  you  rejected  it." 

"Come — oh,  do  come — or  you  and  I  will  be  burnt." 
In  the  inrushing  sweep  of  air  both  were  clear  of  the 
smoke  and  could  breathe. 

He  shook  his  head.     "  I  am  followed.     I  will  not  be 


400  IN  THE  HOAR  OF  THE  SEA. 

taken.  I  am  110  good  now — without  my  right  hand.  I 
will  not  go  to  jail." 

She  caught  his  arm,  and  tearing  the  kerchief  from 
her  neck,  bound  it  round  and  round  where  the  veins 
were  severed. 

"It  is  in  vain,"  he  said.  "I  have  lost  most  of  my 
blood.  Ju  !  " — he  held  her  with  his  left  hand — "  Ju,  if 
you  live,  swear  to  me,  swear  you  will  sign  the  regis- 
ter." 

She  was  looking  into  his  face — it  was  ghastly,  partly 
through  loss  of  blood,  partly  because  lighted  by  the 
glare  of  the  burning  tobacco  that  dropped  from  above. 
Then  a  sense  of  vast  pity  came  surging  over  her  along 
with  the  thought  of  how  he  had  loved  her.  Into  her 
burning  eyes  tears  came. 

"  Judith  ! "  he  said,  "  I  made  my  confession  to  you — I 
told  you  my  sins.  Give  me  also  my  release.  Say  you 
forgive  me." 

She  had  forgotten  her  peril,  forgotten  about  the  fire 
that  was  above  and  around,  as  she  looked  at  his  eyes, 
and,  holding  the  maimed  right  arm,  felt  the  hot  blood 
welling  through  her  kerchief  and  running  over  her 
hand. 

"  I  pray  you,  oh,  I  pray  you,  come  outside.  There  is 
still  time." 

Again  he  shook  his  head.  "  My  time  is  up.  I  do  not 
want  to  live.  I  have  not  your  love.  I  could  never  win 
it,  and  if  I  went  outside  I  should  be  captured  and  sent 
to  prison.  Will  you  give  me  my  absolution  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  1 "  And  in  her  trembling  con- 
cern for  him — in  the  intensity  of  her  pity,  sorrow,  care 
for  him — she  drew  his  wounded  hand  to  her  and  pressed 
it  against  her  heaving  bosom. 

"  What  I  mean  is,  can  you  forgive  me  ?  " 

"  Indeed — indeed  I  do." 

"  What— all  I  have  done  1 " 

"All." 

She  saw  only  a  dying  man  before  her,  a  man  who 
might  be  saved  if  he  would,  but  would  not  because  her 
love  was  everything  to  him,  and  that  he  never,  never 
could  gain.  Would  she  make  no  concession  to  him  ? 
could  she  not  draw  a  few  steps  nearer  ?  As  she  looked 
into  his  face  and  held  his  bleeding  arm  to  her  bosom, 
pity  overpowered  her — pity,  when  she  saw  how  strong 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  401 

had  been  this  wild  and  wicked  man's  love.  Now  she 
truly  realized  its  depth,  its  intensity,  and  its  tender- 
ness alternating-  with  stormy  blasts  of  passion,  as  he 
wavered  between  hope  and  i'ear,  and  the  despair  that 
was  his  when  he  knew  he  must  lose  her. 

Then  she  stooped,  and,  the  tears  streaming-  over  her 
face,  she  kissed  him  on  his  brow,  and  then  on  his  lips, 
and  then  drew  back,  still  holding"  his  maimed,  hand,  with 
both  of  hers  crossed  over  it,  to  her  heaving1  bosom. 
Kneeling1,  she  had  her  eyes  on  his,  and  his  were  on  hers 
—steady,  searching-,  but  with  a  g-entle  lig-ht  in  them. 
And  as  she  thus  looked  she  became  unconscious,  and 
sank,  still  holding-  his  hand,  on  the  floor. 

At  that  instant,  through,  the  smoke  and  raining 
masses  of  burning-  tobacco,  plunged  Oliver  Menaida.  He 
saw  Judith,  bent,  caught  her  in  his  arms,  and  rushed 
back  through  the  door. 

A  moment  after  and  he  was  at  the  entrance  ag-ain,  to 
plunge  through  and  rescue  his  wounded  adversary ;  but 
the  moment  when  this  could  be  done  was  past.  There 
was  an  explosion  above,  followed  by  a  fall  as  of  a  sheet 
of  blue  light,  a  curtain  of  fire  through  the  mist  of  white 
smoke.  No  living-  man  could  pass  that.  Oliver  went 
round  to  the  window,  and  strove  to  enter  by  that  way ; 
the  man  who  had  taken  refuge  there  was  still  in  the 
same  position,  but  he  had  torn  the  kerchief  of  Judith 
from  the  bleeding-  arm,  and  he  held  it  to  his  .mouth, 
looking  with  fixed  eyes  into  the  falling  red  and  blue  fires 
and  the  swirling  flocks  of  white  smoke. 

There  were  iron  bars  at  the  window.  Oliver  tore  at 
these  to  displace  them. 

"  Coppinger !  "  he  shouted,  "  stand  up — help  me  to 
break  these  bars !  " 

But  Coppinger  would  not  move,  or,  possibly,  the 
power  was  gone  from  him.  The  bars  were  firmly  set. 
They  had  been  placed  in  the  windows  by  Coppinger's 
orders  and  under  his  own  supervision,  to  secure  Othello 
Cottage,  his  store-place,  against  invasion  by  the  inquisi- 
tive. 

At  length  Oliver  succeeded  in  wrenching  one  bar 
away,  and  now  a  gap  was  made  through  which  he  migh ; 
reach  Coppinger  and  draw  him  forth  through  the  win- 
dow. He  was  scrambling  in  when  the  Captain  stag- 
gered to  his  feet. 


402  IN  THE  ROAE   OF  THE  SEA. 

"  Let  me  alone,"  said  he.  "  You  have  won  what  I  have 
lost.  Let  me  alone.  I  am  defeated." 

Then  he  stepped  into  the  mass  of  smoke  and  falling" 
liquid  blue  fire  and  dropping-  masses  of  red  glowing  to- 
bacco. A  moment  more,  and  the  whole  of  the  attic 
noor,  with  all  the  burning  contents  of  the  g-arret.  fell  in. 


CHAPTEE  LIV. 

SQUAB  PIE. 

Next  morning1,  at  an  early  hour,  Judith,  attended  by 
Mr.  Zachary  Menaida,  appeared  at  the  rectory  of  St. 
Enodoc.  She  was  deadly  pale,  but  there  was  decision  in 
her  face.  She  asked  to  see  Mr.  Desiderius  Mules  in  his 
study,  and  was  shown  into  what  had,  in  her  father's  days, 
been  the  pantry. 

Mr.  Menaida  had  a  puzzled  look  in  his  watery  eyes. 
He  had  been  up  all  night,  and  indeed  it  had  been  a  night 
in  which  few  in  the  neighborhood  had  slept,  excepting 
Mr.  Mules,  who  knew  nothing  of  what  had  happened. 
The  smugglers,  alarmed  by  the  fire  at  Othello  Cottage, 
and  by  the  party  collected  by  Mr.  Menaida  to  guard  the 
descent  to  the  beach,  had  not  ventured  to  force  their  way 
to  the  cave.  The  Black  Prince,  finding  that  no  signal 
was  made  from  the  ledge  above  the  cave,  suspected  mis- 
chief, heaved  anchor  and  bore  away.  The  stupefied 
members  of  the  Preventive  service  were  conveyed  to  the 
nearest  cottages,  and  there  left  to  recover.  As  for  Othello 
Cottage,  it  was  a  blazing  and  smoking  mass  of  fire,  and 
till  late  on  the  following  day  could  not  be  searched. 
There  was  no  fire-engine  anywhere  near ;  nor  would  a 
fire-engine  have  availed  to  save  either  the  building  or  its 
contents. 

When  Mr.  Mules  appeared,  Judith  said  in  a  quiet  but 
firm  tone,  "  I  have  come  to  sign  the  register.  Mr.  Me- 
naida is  here.  I  do  it  willingly,  and  with  no  constraint." 

"  Thank  you.  This  is  most  considerate  to  my  feelings. 
I  wish  all  my  flock  would  obey  my  advice  as  you  are 
now  doing,"  said  the  rector,  and  produced  the  book, 
which  Judith  signed  with  trembling  hand. 

Mr.  Desiderius  was  quite  ignorant  of  the  events  of  the 
night.  He  had  no  idea  that  at  that  time  Captain  Cop- 
pinger  was  dead. 


404  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

It  was  not  till  some  days  later  that  Judith  understood 
why,  at  the  last  moment,  with  death  before  his  eyes, 
Coppinger  had  urged  011  her  this  ratification  of  her  mar- 
riage. It  was  not  till  his  will  was  found,  that  she  under- 
stood his  meaning.  He  had  left  to  her,  as  his  wife, 
everything  that  he  possessed.  No  one  knew  of  any 
relatives  that  he  had,  for  no  one  knew  whence  he  came. 
No  one  ever  appeared  to  put  in  a  claim  against  the 
widow. 

On  the  second  day  the  remains  of  the  burnt  cottage 
were  cleared  away,  and  then  the  body  of  Cruel  Cop- 
pinger  was  found,  fearfully  charred,  and  disfigured  past 
recognition.  There  were  but  two  persons  who  knew 
that  this  blackened  corpse  belonged  to  the  long  dreaded 
captain,  and  these  were  Judith  and  Oliver.  When  the 
burnt  body  was  cleared  from  the  charred  fragments  of 
clothing  that  were  about  it  one  article  was  discovered 
uninjured.  About  his  throat  Coppinger  had  worn  a 
silk  handkerchief,  and  this  as  well  as  the  collar  of  his 
coat  had  preserved  his  neck  and  the  upper  portion  of 
his  chest  from  injury  such  as  had  befallen  the  rest  of 
his  person.  And  when  the  burnt  kerchief  was  removed, 
and  the  singed  cloth  of  the  coat -collar,  there  was  discov- 
ered round  the  throat  a  narrow  black  band,  and  sewn 
into  this  band,  one  golden  thread  of  hair,  encircling  the 
neck. 

Are  our  readers  acquainted  with  that  local  delicacy 
entitled,  in  Cornwall  and  Devon,  Squab  Pie  "?  To  en- 
lighten the  ignorant,  it  shall  be  described.  First,  how- 
ever, we  premise  that  of  squab  pies  there  are  two  sorts : 
Devonian  squab  and  Cornish  squab.  The  Cornish  squab 
differs  from  the  Devonian  squab  in  one  particular ;  that 
shall  be  specified  presently. 

How  to  Make  a  Squab  Pie. — Take  half  a  pound  of  veal, 
cut  into  nice  square  pieces,  and  put  a  layer  of  them  at 
the  bottom  of  a  pie-dish.  Sprinkle  over  these  a  portion 
of  herbs,  spices,  seasoning,  lemon-peel,  and  the  yolks  of 
eggs  cut  in  slices ;  cut  a  quarter  of  a  pound  of  boiled 
ham  very  thin,  and  put  in  a  layer  of  this.  Take  half  a 
pound  of  mutton  cut  into  nice  pieces,  and  put  a  layer 
of  them  on  the  top  of  the  veal.  Sprinkle  as  before 
with  herbs  and  spices.  Take  half  a  pound  of  beef,  cut 
into  nice  pieces,  and  put  a  layer  of  them  on  top  of 


IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA.  405 

the  mutton.  Sprinkle  as  before  with  herbs  and  spices. 
Cut  up  half  a  dozen  apples  very  fine,  also  half  a  dozen 
onions,  mix,  and  proceed  to  ram  the  onions  and  apples 
into  every  perceivable  crevice.  Take  half  a  dozen  pilch- 
ards, remove  the  bones,  chop  up  and  strew  the  whole 
pie  with  pilchards.  Then  fill  up  with  clotted  cream,  till 
the  pie-dish  will  hold  no  more.  (For  Cornish  squab 
add,  treated  in  like  manner,  a  cormorant.)  Proceed  to 
lay  a  puff  paste  on  the  edge  of  the  dish.  Then  insert  a 
tablespoon  and  stir  the  contents,  till  your  arm  aches. 
Cover  with  crust  or  ornament  it  with  leaves,  brush  it 
over  with  the  yolk  of  an  egg,  and  bake  in  a  well-heated 
oven  for  one  or  one  and  a  half  hour,  or  longer,  should 
the  pie  be  very  large  (two  in  the  case  of  a  Cornish  squab, 
and  the  cormorant  very  tough). 

In  one  word,  a  squab  pie  is  a  scrap  pie.  So  is  the 
final  chapter  of  a  three-volume  novel.  It  is  made  up, 
from  the  first  word  to  the  last,  of  scraps  of  all  kinds, 
toothsome  and  the  reverse. 

Now  let  the  reader  observe — he  has  been  already  sup- 
plied with  scraps.  He  has  learned  the  result  of  Mr. 
Menaida's  collecting  men  to  .assist  him  against  the 
smugglers.  Also  of  his  expedition  along  with  Judith 
to  the  rectory  of  St.  Enodoc.  Also  he  has  heard  the 
provisions  of  Captain  Coppinger's  will ;  also  that  this 
will  was  not  contested.  He  has  also  heard  of  the  recov- 
ery of  the  Captain's  body  from  the  burnt  cottage. 

Is  not  this  a  collection  of  scraps  cut  very  small  ?  But 
there  are  more,  of  a  different  character,  with  which  this 
chapter  will  be  made  up,  before  the  pie-crust  closes  over 
it  with  a  nourishing  "  Finis  "  to  ornament  it. 

Mr.  Scantlebray  had  lost  his  wife,  who  had  been  an  ail- 
ing* woman  for  some  years,  and  being  a  widower,  cast 
about  his  eyes  for  a  second  wife,  after  the  way  of  wid- 
owers. There  was  not  the  excuse  of  a  young  family 
needing  a  prudent  housewife  to  manage  the  children, 
for  Mr.  Scantlebray  had  only  one  daughter,  who  had 
been  allotted  by  her  father  and  by  popular  opinion  to 
Captain  Coppinger,  but  had  failed  to  secure  him.  Mr. 
Scantlebray,  though  an  active  man,  had  not  amassed 
much  money,  and  if  he  could  add  to  his  comforts,  pro- 
vide himself  with  good  eating  and  good  drinking,  by 
marrying  a  woman  with  money,  he  was  not  averse  to 
so  doing.  Now,  Mr.  Scantlebray  had  lent  a  ready  ear 


406  IN  THE  ROAR   OF  THE  SEA. 

to  tlie  voice  of  rumor  which  made  Miss  Dionysia  Tre- 
visa  the  heiress  who  had  come  in  for  all  the  leavings 
of  that  rich  old  spinster,  Miss  Ceely,  of  St.  Austell, 
and  Mr.  Scantlebray  gave  credit  to  this  rumor,  and  act- 
ing on  it,  proposed  to  and  was  accepted  by  Miss  Dion- 
ysia. 

Now  when,  after  marriage,  Mr.  Scantlebray  found 
out  that  the  sweet  creature  he  had  taken  to  his  side 
was  worth  under  a  quarter  of  the  sum  he  had  set  down 
at  the  lowest  figure,  at  which  he  could  endure  her, 
and  when  the  late  Miss  Trevisa,  now  the  second  Mrs. 
Scantlebray,  learned  from  her  husband's  lips  that  he  had 
married  her  only  for  her  money,  and  not  for  her  good 
looks  or  for  any  good  quality  she  was  supposed  to  be 
endowed  with,  the  reader,  knowing  something  of  the 
characters  of  these  two  persons,  may  conjecture,  if  he 
please,  what  sort  of  scenes  ensued  daily  between  them, 
and  it  may  be  safely  asserted  that  the  bitterest  enemies 
of  either  could  not  have  desired  for  each  a  more  unen- 
viable lot  than  was  theirs. 

Very  shortly  after  the  death  of  Captain  Coppinger, 
Judith  and  Jamie  left  Bristol  in  a  vessel,  with  Uncle 
Zachie,  bound  for  Lisbon.  Oliver  Menaida  had  gone  to 
Oporto  before,  to  make  arrangements  for  his  father.  It 
was  settled  that  Judith  and  her  brother  should  live 
with  the  old  man,  and  that  the  girl  should  keep  house 
for  him.  Oliver  would  occupy  his  old  quarters,  that 
belonged  to  the  firm  in  which  he  was  a  partner. 

It  is  a  strange  thing — but  after  the  loss  of  Coppinger 
Judith's  rnind  reverted  much  to  him,  she  thought  long 
and  tenderly  of  his  considerations  for  her,  his  patience 
with  her,  his  forbearance,  his  gentleness  toward  her,  and 
of  his  intense  and  enduring  love.  His  violence  she  for- 
got, and  she  put  down  the  crimes  he  had  committed  to 
evil  association,  or  to  an  irregulated,  undisciplined  con- 
science, excusable  in  a  measure  in  one  who  had  not 
the  advantages  she  had  enjoyed,  of  growing  up  under 
the  eye  of  a  blameless,  honorable,  and  right-minded 
father. 

In  the  Consistory  Court  of  Canterbury  is  a  book  of 
the  marriages  performed  at  the  Oporto  factory,  by  the 
English  chaplain  resident  there.  It  begins  in  the  year 
1788  and  ends  in  1807.  The  author  has  searched  this 
volume  in  vain  for  a  marriage  between  Oliver  Menaida 


IN  THE  110AH   OF  THE  SEA.  407 

and  Judith  Coppinger.  If  such  a  marriage  did  take 
place,  it  must  have  been  after  1807,  but  the  book  of 
register  of  marriages  later  than  this  date  is  not  to  be 
found  in  the  Consistory  Court. 

Were  they  married  1 

On  inquiry  at  St.  Enodoc  no  information  has  been 
obtained,  for  neither  Judith  nor  the  Menaidas  had  any 
relatives  there  with  whom  they  communicatod.  If  Mrs. 
JScantlebray  ever  heard,  she  said  nothing,  or,  at  all 
events,  nothing  she  said  concerning  them  has  been  re- 
membered. 

Were  they  ever  married  ? 

That  question  the  reader  must  decide  as  he  likes. 


FINIS. 


fiar  i  np*«»( 


955 

B253 


In  the   ro 


ar  of  the   sea 


in 


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